The Daughter of a Legend
by thewolvesarecalling
Summary: I was born into greatness, destined for it even. I had a name to live up to, my father's legacy to honor. I had to be perfect, I can't dishonor the name of my family, be the reason we fall. But how could I ever live up to anything my fathers before me have done and accomplished? How can I live up to my own father? How could anyone live up to Bruce Wayne?
1. Chapter 1: Part 1

I was born into greatness. Since the second I took my first breath of air, a weight a thousand times heavier than the world was placed upon my fragile shoulders. People would look at me, small and cozy, wrapped up in a pink blanket in my mother's arms, and know I was destined to be great. I had to be. But I never understood that when I was younger; though as I grew, I realized what they all meant, and just how heavy those weights had begun to push down on me. It was expected; perhaps not perfection or wisdom, or even implausible knowledge, but a sort of greatness that only comes from those born into my family, into my name. It began generations back, further back than my mind can even comprehend, but they didn't matter; not anymore. Now it was my turn, my time, and my weights that have already been worn and burdened by those before me. My name is Alexandria Wayne, and Bruce Wayne is my father.

Like my grandfather and father before me, I was born into wealth of unimaginable measures. To live in a family that owns enterprises that exist all over the world is no small feat, but it wasn't impressive to me, never was, never will be. Money didn't bother with me, and I didn't with it. I could have had anything I wanted growing up, anything at all, and my father would have done everything in his power to make me happy. But even so, since I was small, father always warned me of the power and evil of money, and so I stayed wary of it. But that didn't stop the thoughts and tongues of the people of Gotham. I was the daughter of a billionaire, and so, just as small as their minds, their mouths would talk and call me spoiled and rotten; some even called me the princess of Gotham City.

But I didn't want that. I wanted to be just another girl, just another citizen. But I couldn't be that either. Because my father was Bruce Wayne, and Bruce Wayne was Batman.

I found out about my father when I was merely eight years old, and by accident as well. I had been playing the piano when I accidentally entered in the magical keys that opened a secret door in the bookcase just beyond that lead to the Batcave. My father wanted to try and keep the secret from me as long as he could, but I was too old to be convinced that what I saw wasn't real. I had known of the Batman, all of Gotham knew of the Batman, but I never would have guessed that my father really was the superhero that my imagination always depicted him as.

But that's nothing. The real story doesn't begin until years later when I turned sixteen, and Batman was a figment of the past.

I woke up that morning like any other; sunlight glinting its way through the crack in my curtains, dancing and flittering over my eyes, gently waking me up. I swam soundlessly through the sea of blankets and sheets that was my bed; oversized ever since I was brought home from the hospital. With my feet eventually poking out, I felt myself extend down to touch the cold tiles that always sent a shock of awareness through me and helped to waken my senses even more. With a rub of my eyes, I walked the yards it seemed from my bed to the double doors that marked the end of my room.

Beyond them, the manor was silent, as it always was; it was only I, my father, and our butler Alfred who lived here. I could smell the cooking of chocolate chip pancakes wafting from the kitchen as they always did on the morning of my birthday; it was one of the only times my father actually cooked and gave Alfred a break. Barefooted, I made my way down the hall and round to the main stairway until on the first floor, the scent spiraled in my nose, and the excitement jolted me into a run into the kitchen.

I pushed open the swinging door to find that the whole kitchen was one big mess, with a big steaming plate of chocolate chip pancakes sitting at the table. Pans and utensils flooded the sink, while pancake batter and chocolate chips buried the counter, and at the center of the mess stood my father, his back to me at the stove, until his head turned slightly to see me. A smile crept up his face as it always does, taking it's time, never coming all at once. I made my way over to him; I still only came up to his neck.

"There's the birthday girl," he said as he flopped the last pancakes that were on the pan onto a plate that was beside him. He wiped off his hands before turning to me and placing an arm around me. "Happy birthday." I swung my arms around him as his laid on my shoulder.

"I hope those are for me," I said as our grips released on each other and I held an intense staring contest with the fresh plate of pancakes. I started for them.

"These are Alfred's favorite, but I guess you can have some too," he joked. I took the plate, and grabbed the bottle of syrup nearby as well, and made my way to the table where the others waited to be eaten. I sat myself down, got situated, and began to cut into them, when it dawned on me that I was at the table by myself. I glanced up, expecting him to follow, but my father still right where I left him. With a glance between him and the pancakes, I smiled unto him.

"You know, I don't think Alfred would mind too much if you had some of these too." He bobbed his head at my suggestion before walking over.

"Alfred's a decent guy, I think he would understand." He pulled out the chair opposite me and seated himself. He began piling the cakes onto his own plate, before drenching them in a river of syrup. He cut them into only moderately bite size pieces before sticking them in his mouth. I chuckled at him; the food made him look like a squirrel with nuts in his cheeks busily storing up for winter. Behind the food in his mouth, I heard a muffled laugh escape him as well. It had always been the simple moments I enjoyed with my father; the moments that neither of us ever really remember nor notice.

He chewed and swallowed until his face and cheeks were the size of normal humans again, at which he patted his mouth with a napkin and began gathering more on his fork.

"So, do you have any plans for today?" he asked before his mouth was occupied again. The end of my fork grazed over my pancakes, suddenly loosing part of my appetite. On any other girl's sixteenth birthday, she might have said that she was going shopping or out to party with her friends, but I didn't have that privilege. I didn't make friends easily, and I didn't have many for that reason. School, or really any place that would have kids my age, was hard for me. Most of them looked at me, and because of where I came from, they would judge me on the spot and say I was a spoiled little rich girl, when I never understood where that came from, because I had tried all my life to never act that way. But I guess people will think what they please no matter what.

"No," I peeped out. I impaled a piece of pancake and stuck it in my mouth. I peeked a look up at him from my plate. He furrowed his brows at me as he chewed. He spoke once he swallowed.

"I thought you were going out with Elizabeth to go shopping, or get your nails done, or do whatever it is teenage girls do." A subtle chuckled came out of me. I poked more holes in my pancakes.

"We were supposed to. But her family is visiting from London." Elizabeth was the closest thing to a real friend I had, but even so we didn't see each other much with our given schedules; me, always going to charity events and balls and galas with my father, and her with her family. Part of her family was somehow involved with the monarchy in Britain, and she was even a very long heir to the throne. If there was ever a mass epidemic or killing in Britain, she could be the next Queen of England.

"That's a shame." My father finished off his last piece of pancake as he popped it in his mouth, and had it chewed and swallowed within seconds. I still had at least half a pancake left. If there was one thing my father was, it was a professional eater. He had the appetite of a thousand kings, and could put each one of them to shame within seconds.

His blue eyes stayed on me; I had always been jealous of his eyes; I wish I had inherited them instead of the brown ones I have; blue is much more fun to get lost in. "But, I think I know what might brighten your spirits." I eyed him suspiciously as he pulled something out of his pocket and placed it on the table in front of me. I pushed my plate aside, done uninterested in what lay on the plate, and reached for what was in front of me. It was a little rectangular black box with a velvet coating. I slipped my finger between the top and bottom of the box and began to uncover whatever lay inside. I glanced back and forth between him and it before it was completely opened. I tried to read his face for any clues, but my father was a master actor, and quite the professional at hiding his feelings as well. My eyes meandered back to the box, now opened. Inside lay a beautiful snow white string of pearls, pretty enough for angels to wear. I had never been a pearls kind of girl, but I couldn't ignore the beauty that emitted from them. I looked up to my father with a smile I didn't know I was wearing.

"Dad, I know you have a lot of money, but these must have cost as much as I'm worth." His eyes carried from me to the pearls, a subtle smile on his face as he shook his head slightly, almost as if he was lost in thought.

"I didn't buy them. They were my mother's." I should have looked down at the necklace again, but I didn't. I watched my father, I watched his face and I knew he remembered his mother, and it was tragically beautiful to see him and know that to think of his mother, or his parents as an entirety, is so wonderfully torturous for him.

"She must have been very beautiful to wear something like this." I had seen pictures of my grandmother, but I knew nothing could compare to having your eyes on the real thing. My father's attention wavered to me slowly, as if he literally had to tear his eyes from the sight of his memories.

"Ever since I found out that you would be a girl, I had been dreaming of the day I could give these to you. And I knew they would look just as beautiful on you as they did on my mother. But," he reached out and shut the little box while it was still in my grasp, and then lifted it up and pulled it back towards him a bit. My eyes went from him to the box then back to him. "You can only have these on one condition."

"Anything."

"You have to wear them tonight when you come with me to the charity ball." A lazy smile cascaded my expression. I had been to literally hundreds of charity balls in my lifetime, one more couldn't hurt. Besides, it's better than spending my birthday most likely alone in a huge mansion. He slid the box on the table back towards me as my fingers met the box but my attention on him.

"Are you asking me to be your date?" I asked with a sly look.

"Well you know me. I only ask the prettiest girls." My father should be given a medal for his ability to always get the perfect last word. I had seen him do it millions of times; with me, Alfred, even other rich and powerful people. I hoped when I was his age I would be able to be sly like that too.

"Thanks Dad." He began to get up and take his plate over to the sink already overflowing with dishes, when he stopped midstride.

"Hey, and since today is your birthday, I'll have Alfred take you out dress shopping later." I smiled at him, as his back turned once again to continue on to the sink. He deposited his plate, leaving the initial cleanup to Alfred, and without another word or look my way, he made his way through the kitchen doors, leaving them to swing back and forth until they found a rhythm together and eventually stood still once more.

I stayed where I was, watching the door to see if it really was still or still slightly moving, until my mind bored of it. My sight and attention grazed on the pearls in the box. I traced my fingers over them; they really were beautiful and so elegant, like something a woman much wiser than I should wear. I gently pulled them from the box and took them tenderly between my fingers and laced them around my neck, hooking it firmly in the back. My hands kept a hold on them; the pearls pushing down on the weight that had been on me from birth.


	2. Chapter 2

"What about this one, Miss Alex?" I turned away from the clothing rack I was facing and towards Alfred who stood behind me, holding up an elegant dark blue evening dress. It had subtle sparkles covering it, reminding me of a beautiful night sky. It was funny to come shopping with Alfred, he always had an impeccable taste in clothes; it must be a British thing.

While the dress was beautiful, it looked too old for me, and with a slightly scrunched face, I shook my head at Alfred. He nodded at me and placed it back on the rack where it hung. "What kind of dress are you looking for?" Alfred spoke absentmindedly as he began to rifle through another rack of beautiful dresses that would suit a queen better than a wealthy girl. All these dresses were so overdone, overdramatized, echoing every stitching in the way you walked or posed. It was too much for me; I liked simplicity.

"Something classy, but not showy. Something that would make me look elegant, but also my own age. Look for simplicity, since it seems to be nearly extinct in our world." My last phrase came out as a whisper, only because I knew Alfred didn't need to hear it, and I did.

I looked over at him, a sort of look that doesn't really mean to happen, but does. A kind of look that slides absentmindedly to them, and as I looked, I smiled. Alfred had served in our house and under our name since my grandfather, Thomas Wayne. When he died, he became my father's foster father, and just as so, like a grandfather to me. I had never thought of him as our servant or butler, or whatever his real job is, he was never that to me. He and I, as well as he and my father had a relationship, a friendship so far beyond the means of master and butler. He was family, and he had always been everything to me that my dad couldn't. But that didn't stop much; it certainly never stopped my mind. I had everything I wanted and needed, and I was happy.

But I wanted to know about her; my mother. Ever since I was little, the rule was that I didn't need anyone who didn't need me. But I think my father just told me that so I wouldn't ask questions. And while I didn't ask aloud, I still asked in my head. I still wanted to know. I never remember having a mother. There are no pictures of her, no videos. It's almost as if she never existed, but she must have. I've always wanted to ask Alfred, since I knew he was gentler when it came to the situation. My father would always insist that I didn't need to know anything more than what I do, which wasn't much of anything at all. And while I watched him mindlessly look through racks among racks of clothes, I wanted to do it, to say something. But then I always stop right before I do, and I always think this isn't the right time, but it always is. And I never do anything.

I tried to wiggle those thoughts out of my head and turn my attention back on shopping, but I wasn't as good at blocking things out as my father was.

"Miss Alex?" As quickly as I had torn my vision away from him, it seemed to be back. He held up a black cocktail dress to me; strapless with a sweetheart neckline. It looked tighter around the waist, and then expanding outward down to the length of most likely a little above my knees. It was beautiful and perfect and simple. A smile stretched over my face as my feet carried me towards it.

"That's perfect Alfred. Do they have it in my size?" A worn smile appeared through his soft wrinkles that lined his face; half laugh lines, half worry lines.

"A medium petite," he said as he handed it to me. As I took it in my hands I could see that with closer examination, the neckline was lightly sewn with black lace near the top, as well as at the bottom of the dress. "Well, go try it on." With a slightly look up at him, I felt a small push on my back, itching me towards the dressing room. I loved shopping with Alfred, only because he didn't care what I got, as long as it made me happy.

I scurried my way into the oversized dressing room and shut the door behind me. I hung the dress carefully from one of the many hooks nailed to the walls carefully as I slipped out of my shirt, jeans, and shoes. I grabbed for the dress and slide the hanger off. I unzipped it and placed it near my feet in order for me to step into it. I pulled it up, and since the zipper was on the side of the dress I could do it up myself. It fit me even more perfectly than a glove, as if this dress was made specifically for me and for me alone. It hugged all the right swings and curves of my body, and accentuated the parts that should be. I stared at myself in the mirror for a moment, party admiring how lovely the dress looked, and partly trying to figure out who this dress made me look like, because it wasn't me. Or if it was me, it was the person that was supposed to be great, the girl in the mirror looked more like a Wayne than I ever felt.

I gingerly opened the dressing room door, looking for Alfred before emerging, not particularly wanting anyone else to see me. My eyes caught his balding white haired head beyond a rack of evening gowns, sitting on a bench waiting.

"Alfred!" I tried to whisper yell it, but it came out more like a hissing sound. Nonetheless, he looked over to where I was a floating head behind a door. He picked himself up and started for the dressing rooms. He stood with his hands behind his back, nearly swaying on the heels of his feet, that sweet older smile still on his face.

"Well come now, let's see it. I can't pay for something I can't see." I wasn't wary of Alfred seeing me; he had seen me in dresses thousands of times before, but I didn't know how the dress would make me look to him. Would I look elegant, older, or just like me? Or would I remind him of someone else entirely.

I stepped out from behind the door, ready and willing to take in whatever words Alfred had storing up in his head. His face changed once he saw me; the smile weakening, but existing while I heard air in his lungs; whether that was an inhale or exhale I'm unsure. I rested my hands on the sides of the dress, taking handfuls of it into my hands, gripping and releasing. I felt my lips spread, but they didn't feel quite like a smile, or like anything else.

"Well, what do you think?" As if breaking from a trance, his eyes blinked a few times, and his mouth regained the curve it momentarily lost.

"I think that dress makes you look like royalty. It's beautiful, Miss." I kept on staring at him, waiting for him to say it, say something, say anything else, but he didn't, he only smiled before turning slightly. "So is that the one you want?" His footing marked that he was on his way to the cashier, about to pay, but I didn't feel satisfied. Barefooted, I tip toed my way out towards him some, before my mouth lost its control.

"Alfred," I heard myself say, though I thought for sure I yelled for him in my head. He halted and turned back towards me, his face a mixture between confusion and worry; the same face I had seen him give my father a thousand times.

"Yes?" This was my opportunity, my change to say something, to find out something I've needed to know since I was young. But my tongue forgot out to make words, and I stood there silently in a beautiful dress, only deepening his confusion. "Is something wrong? Do you not like the dress?" At that, my voice booted up again instantly.

"No, no, I love it, it's just," I scavenged my head for the right words, the perfect words. "Does it make me look like anyone?" His eyes furrowed, and I knew he didn't understand what I meant, or at least what I was trying to portray. His feet carried him closer to me, if only an inch or so.

"Why, it makes you look like you." I wandered towards him bit by bit, my hands now gripping the dress to keep my hands busy. I shook my head slightly, trying not to look so sad, but not knowing not how to either.

"No, I mean, does it make me look like anyone before me?" Only seconds more of confusion lasted on his face, before a wash of realization cascaded his features, and his eyes looked at me softly, a sympathetic deepness hidden within them.

"You mean your mother." I nodded at him, unsure if I even wanted to know anymore. With a quiet stare, he held out his arm towards the bench that he had been waiting on, and both he and I walked to it together, nearly in time with each other's footsteps. I sat down, and he beside me. I grew worried. I had always wanted to hear the story of my mother, but now that I was about to hear it, I wasn't so sure I was ready to. Alfred looked at me, but I now felt ashamed for asking.

"Your mother was very beautiful." Despite myself, I looked up at him, trying to examine his expressions as he spoke. "Probably the most beautiful woman that your father ever had the pleasure of bringing back to the manor. And you could just tell that your father was in love with her since the first time he brought her to the house. He would walk around smiling for no reason at all, other than he was in love." Alfred's eyes lingered elsewhere, somewhere in the past. "And I had never seen him that happy. That is, until the night he came home and told me that she said yes. They had the most beautiful wedding ever imaginable," he focused on me once again, "right in your backyard. It wasn't big, but it was beautiful for sure. And then lived in happy bliss for a few months, just the two of them, practically in their own little worlds." I didn't have to see my face to know that I was smiling; it was wonderful to think about my father being so happy, I had always felt like he deserved a sense of perfect happiness that he never really had the chance to obtain.

Alfred leaned back on the bench, his head clearly in memories; a gentle yet hearty laugh escaping his mouth. "Oh but I will never forget the day your father told me your mother was pregnant. Now that was happiness I had never seen emitted from anyone in my life." The creases of the wrinkles in Alfred's face began to grow deeper however as his smile faded, and his eyes watched the memories in his head. Like the change of a channel, his sight flicked to me, a definite sadness on his face. "But you see, your father has a torturous curse on his life. It seems that when wonderful things enter his life, they seem to leave in a mess of sadness and tragedy." I tried to look everywhere on his face for answers, his eyes, his lips, anything, but Alfred was just about as readable as a stone; it was his greatest strength and weakness all at once. "Your mother was a simple woman, and that's all she ever wanted to be. But when you're married to someone with a name like Bruce Wayne, well, society expects a lot from you. You see, your mother felt constantly judged and ridiculed, and felt that she wasn't meeting up to what the Wayne family stands for. When you were about one, she decided that she couldn't handle it anymore. She didn't want to be the reason the Wayne family got a bad name, and she felt like a shell of herself with the way people would talk about her. So she left, and your father was in pieces for months."

I didn't know what to do, or feel, or think. My mother left because of the same pressures and reasons that I'm terrified of facing on a daily basis. And what terrifies me more, is how crushed and completely annihilated my father would be if I made the same mistakes as her. Yet incidentally, this only adds more pressure to live up to everything everyone says I am.

I looked up at him, eyes wide, pain trying to seep its way in through my pores, though since I do not remember her, I cannot feel for her pain, but my own instead. "So that's it? She just left?" Alfred eyed me, before shaking his head.

"Sadly, two years after she left, she died due to medical reasons; heart related if I remember correctly. But," his voice grew bolder and his body turned slightly towards mine. "Make no mistake, Miss Alex, your mother loved you very much. But she knew that in order to insure the best life for you, you had to stay here with your father." I didn't feel abandoned by her; I didn't know her enough to feel that way. More than anything, I felt for my father, and scars that all this must have left on his soul. I can't blame him for never wanting to tell me about her. If I were him, I would never want to remember.

"Thank you Alfred." The smallest of smirks echoed through his wrinkles.

"Everyone should know where they come from, whether their story is happy or sad." I hung my head lower, seeing the dress, and forgetting I even had it on. "But it's getting late, we should get going. Go get your normal clothes back on and I'll go pay." The bench squeaked under us as his weight changed when he picked himself up. I too stood myself up, and watched as Alfred turned and swerved through the maze that was the racks of clothes. I made my way over back to the dressing room, my clothes still where I left them on the floor. I closed the door behind me, though I caught my reflection in the mirror again. I stared at myself, at the dress. I hoped I wouldn't look like my mother when my father saw me in it later.


	3. Chapter 3

I stood in front of my mirror twirling in my dress. I really did love it, no matter what kind of emotions and memories may have been caused from the shopping trip earlier. Those memories didn't matter, they weren't mine anyway. Today was my birthday, and I was going to spend the rest of the evening enjoying it with the only person I'd want to be with tonight; my father.

In my still bare feet, I nearly skipped over to my vanity and seated myself down on the cushioned seat. The lights that lined the mirror on both sides brightened every inch of my skin, causing my eyes to beam a light mocha color, my hair echoing the same. My hair was long, just a hair short of my elbows, and I only had ten minutes to figure out what to do with it all. I wanted to look elegant, but also myself. I looked down to see what sort of items I had to work with to tame my beast of a head, but rather than focus on my bobby pins or headbands or hair ties, I noticed the little box seated there innocently, the same way it sat innocently in front of me earlier when my father offered it to me. My fingers incoherently tiptoed towards it, its velvet soft as anything beneath. I twiddled my thumb in between the top and bottom, and opened it slowly until the entirety of the pearls was revealed. Each individual pearl stole some of the light beaming from my vanity and in took it, as if to shine from within.

These pearls didn't deserve to be around my neck. They should be placed upon someone better, more worthy than just a girl who happened to fall into a wealthy family. I did nothing to deserve this other than be born. It didn't seem fair.

I pulled them out of the box despite my feelings, and felt them slither their way around my neck it seemed, until I hooked it in the back. My eyes focused on the necklace in the mirror, and even my reflection agreed that they didn't look quite right on me.

I looked sophisticated, well-bred, and much older. I looked like a real Wayne, but I didn't feel like it. I often wondered what my father would think if he knew how I felt about our family name, about living up to the unspoken expectation that it lingers over my head, and the fact that I'm drowning myself in the pressures of everything I'm supposed to be. Maybe he would understand. But he couldn't. His father before him built the monorail system which now circuits all through Gotham, as well as in other cities. And my father himself was the Batman; the most noble of heroes this life has ever seen. What do I have going for me? I have a nice personality, I'm pretty smart, but those are all just throwaway traits, and no knowledge or sense of niceness will ever measure up to what I need to be.

My name echoed through the halls of the manor as my father called my name from downstairs. I didn't have time to really worry about my hair, so I just left it down in its natural state, a wavy mess that looked beautiful and smart all at once. I picked myself up from my seat at the vanity and grabbed my shoes that sat at the foot of my bed, slipping them on as quickly as possible. I didn't really like wearing heels, but they made the whole outfit, dress, hair, and pearls come together too nicely to ignore them. I grabbed my coat and jacket, slinging both over my shoulder before taking one last glance in the mirror, and shutting off the light and closing the door.

The clicking of my heels to the tile floor announced that I was coming. From over the railing I could see that my father and Alfred both waited at the foot of the stairs for me. I rounded the bend at the end of the hall and began my descent down to the main floor. My father stood at the bottom leaning against one of the poles that supports the roof. When his eyes looked up and saw me, a smile, small at first, then growing slowly made itself appear on his face. I loved it when my father smiled, only because I felt like he didn't do it enough.

Once near the bottom, he reached out his hand towards me, at to which I placed mine on top of it as he gently escorted me down to the bottom. Our hands fell once we were both on the same elevation.

"You look beautiful Alexandria." I smiled bigger, big enough that my teeth were now exposed to the air. My father liked to use my full name on big or fancy occasions, and it was nice to hear every once in a while. My father looked lovely as well, though in my opinion he always looked nice to some extent. Rather than his regular suit, he was wearing a tux tonight, and if any other wealthy man could pull off a tuxedo like my father could, well we just wouldn't be in Gotham anymore.

"Let's get going." I walked past both my father and Alfred in a start towards the door and began to put my coat on.

"Do you know when you will be home, sir?" Alfred asked my father. I turned to look, even though I could have just listened. My father was fixing his cufflinks.

"I don't know, maybe midnight." He walked past Alfred with a slight head nod and past me to the door and opened it for me. A breeze of cool air glided in; it was getting to be the end of August, and the warm often dies down very quickly around here.

"Very well, sir. Goodbye, Miss Alex. Have a wonderful time." I looked back over my shoulder towards Alfred, he wore a smile that was not quite a smile, but not expressionless. I tossed him a gentle wave, and a sincere smile.

"Bye Alfred. Don't let the party get too out of hand while we're gone." A curve danced to his lips with a mouse's chuckle.

"Yeah, you know the rule. No parties unless I'm invited," my father said to him once I had already walked through the doors. I couldn't see his face, but I could imagine Alfred's smug little grin; the grin he wore when he was happy my father was happy.

The door shut behind me, and I started for the car that Alfred had pulled around to the front. "So I'm sixteen now. Can I drive?" My father's head turned to me, a smile mixed between playfulness and taunt on his face.

"You could be my age, and I still wouldn't let you drive." I rolled my eyes playfully at him before he ducked his head into the car and I mimicked him shortly after.

Real life balls were not as fun as fairytales would like to make people believe. Most of the time, it's just you sitting alone with a drink in your hand and not a care in the world. Or well, that was my father at least. I couldn't drink yet, so I was left to sit at the table alone half the time while my father danced with all the lovely women who would die to tell their friends that they got a dance with Bruce Wayne. And I didn't mind it. I would actually implore my father to go and dance and have fun, it was entertaining for me to watch him, and more so it was even more entertaining to watch these women fawn over my father. There were times I would watch and take count of how many women he danced with, how many of them tried to kiss him, how many of them actually succeeded. I would write it all down on a napkin and hand it to him at the end of the night, and we would have a good laugh over it. It was simplicity at its best. My father's happiness was my happiness.

Though tonight was my birthday, and tonight was different. My father refused to go out and dance with any of these women, he wanted to spend the night with me; but that didn't stop women from trying. They still approached the table and asked and tried to be seductive and sexy, and ultimately my father would always turn them down in a snippy and sarcastic way, and I felt like I was in a sitcom. I eventually began keeping track of how many women came up to him, and I would show him every once in a while and he would laugh with me.

About forty-five minutes into the ball, my father and I were sitting at those small little round tables made for two, and we were maintaining a normal conversation until I noticed his attention on something else, something beyond me, and it baffled me entirely when his lips curved into a smile. I furrowed my brows at him as I laughed slightly at his little game.

"What, what is it?" His head was down, but I could still see the smirk. He reached for his glass and took a short sip, rattling the ice inside around a bit before his eyes peeked back up at mine.

"That boy over there is staring at you." I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks, and I couldn't hide the smile from my lips. I had been leaning on the table with my elbow giving me my support, at to which I gently, and extremely slowly began to turn my head towards where my father had nodded his head at. He was cute, but nothing to fawn over. I brought my head back, my father's eyes now completely on me and a smile that seemed to echo my embarrassment. "Why don't you go talk to him?" My vision flicked automatically to him, his eyes pure blue and his smile genuine. I shook my head lightly.

"No, I couldn't." I had never been the sort of girl that boys just freely walk up to and begin talking to and ask out on dates. No boy wanted to be the boy that broke the heart of Bruce Wayne's daughter, and everyone knew that. Still though, my father found it amusing.

"Why not?" Then as if a distraction sent from the heavens and hells all at once, a huge blast was heard in the south wing of the ballroom. The attention of both my father and my own immediately turned towards the sound, at to which smoke began to rise from where the sound emitted. My father stood up to try and see better, as did I. The people who had been dancing near where the blast came from lay on the ground, uncertain if they were still alive or not, but most of them were motionless. The band that had been playing sweet and beautiful music only seconds before now stood still, nearly statues in fear, as did everyone in the room. My father stood directly in front of me, by no stretch of a coincidence I'm sure.

Faint laughter can be heard but from where is mystery. Shots are then fired and can be heard, but the shooter's whereabouts are unknown as well. Everyone on the dance floor ducks down, and seemingly no one is hit. The laughter gets louder, though it's not a maniacal sort of laughter, nothing ludicrous like The Joker, but laughing none the least. It's then that the shape of three figures can be seen walking through the cloud of smoke that was blown in the wall. Three men appear, each armed with their own assault rifle on hand. The man in the middle, is the one laughing, and is the only one who steps out completely onto the dance floor, where cowering people still huddle into piles of human fright. The other two gunman man the exits of the building; the front door, and now the whole in the side of the wall.

He sets off another round of shots, making his way into a circular fashion around the room. My father pushes down on me and forces me to get lower and take cover; he too now crouches, though in front of me. I'm sure some of those shots hit people; there were a few faint cries of pain.

The central gunman ceases fire, and looks around the room, spinning himself in a slow circle, as if trying to lock eyes with each individual in the room.

"Each one of you listen closely," the gunman says. His voice sounded rough, but there was shakiness to it as well. "If you cooperate, none of you will get hurt. But if you don't, well you better hope I'm a bad shot." He began to walk slowly and slightly out of my vision. I tried to push past my father to see, but he was much stronger than I. "Where is your beloved Commissioner James Gordon? I was told he would be here tonight, and I just want to have a little chat with him. You see, he arrested someone I didn't want to get arrested, and that was just a bad decision on his part. Now I just want to talk it out. So," he did another 360, meeting every face. "Where is he?"

I hadn't seen the commissioner since all night, and I wondered if he was even here at all. From behind my father, I looked at his face; it was stern and firm, and ready to rip the gunman's head off, but I knew he wouldn't, because he wasn't Batman anymore.

The room was quiet, and that just confirmed the fact that Gordon wasn't here. He was no coward, and if someone wanted to speak with him, even someone with a gun, he wouldn't hide. But the gunman didn't know that.

"So, no one is going to talk, huh? You all love your precious commissioner too much, huh?" I saw the gunman's eyes in that moment, and my father had told me of that look. It was the look of desperation; the look given when someone is in so deep, that there is nothing left to pull them out, and they'll do anything. It's the moment when anything is worth everything. "You!" the gunman yells as he points to a man, but not just any man, Anthony Garcia; mayor of Gotham City.

The mayor, who was on the floor crouched beside his wife, sheepishly looked the gunman in the eye, a visible shiver of fear fluttering down his spine. He gets up slowly, his hands raised to the gunman in surrender.

"You're the mayor. You would know better than anyone where Commissioner Gordon would be." With the gun at his side, the mayor can do nothing but tell the truth and hope it saves his life.

"He was supposed to be here, but he's late." His voice is shaken, and he's a mouse instead of a man. But the gunman just laughs at him, the kind of hearty Joker laugh that haunts the nightmares of children. It even caused me to cower behind my father a bit more. Mayor Garcia is trembling, and he can see he's staring death in the face.

Within moments, the gun is to the mayor's head, at which people all over the room gasp and cry and scream, but no shots have been pulled, not yet. His eyes are closed, expecting the worse, nearly hoping for it to be over with.

"If no one tells me where Gordon is within ten seconds, I will blow your mayor's head to bits!" A cry is heard from the mayor though in close competition with his wife's sobbing below at his feet. The gunman begins to countdown aloud, and I realize that the mayor will be killed if something doesn't happen. This is no bluff; when it comes to desperation, bluffs are only but a dream. The countdown continues from his twisted voice, a maniacal twinge in every number. I look at my father, and I see him at me, and I know we're both thinking the same thing; that this scene should have been over a minute ago because Batman would have come and saved the mayor. But Batman wasn't here. And I was.

"Four, three, two—"

"Why would you kill him?" The gunman, as well as every set of eyes in the ballroom turned towards me, now standing up, though I had to battle my father to allow myself to stand up in order myself to be seen and heard. "He's the only one in this entire room that might have a clue were Commissioner Gordon could be, other than here. You think any of us normal people know? You'd be stupid if you killed him." The gunman and I locked eyes, and we both participated in a silent game of Russian roulette, knowing that he could blow my head off at any second. But instead of killing me on the spot, he removed the gun from the mayor's head and started towards me; a sinister smile planted on his face, and the look in his eyes told me he was far beyond rescue at this point. His hole was too deep.

"Okay. I won't kill him. I'll just kill you instead." I should have been afraid, but I couldn't feel the fear through every other emotion that was surging through my veins. I could feel every feeling all at once, except fear.

His gun went up, straight to my face, but I wasn't scared because I was doing the right thing. I was saving the mayor's life.

I almost felt fear as he aimed it at my face, when my father popped back up from where he had been hiding under the table, waiting for the gunman to come close, and as soon as the gun was up, so was my father. He swatted the gun downward at to which the startled gunman dropped his gun, and when he went to go turn towards my father, and have any hope of attacking him, my father punched his straight in the face and quickly took hold of both the man's arms, rendering him useless. My father and I exchanged a glance, but I couldn't for the life of me gather together what he was feeling.

The two gunmen who were blocking the exits began to move in, but before anything else could happen, or any other shots could try to be fired, they froze when a gun was held to both of their backs.

"Freeze!" Before anything could be comprehended, police squads were storming in, and one of the first among them was Gordon himself. The police took the two guard gunmen away to their cars, when Gordon came straight up to my father and me. He looked at my father rather than me, seeing as he was the one with the supposed killer in his hands.

"Sorry I'm a little late. When the explosion went off it triggered a silent alarm at the station. I had to gear up before I came." His eyes hidden behind glasses glanced toward to the crook at my father's feet. "But I see that you have everything under control here Bruce." He tossed me a glance, at to which I began to look away.

"Here, take him and make sure you handcuff him." He handed the man off to Gordon, who I saw eye me slightly, and then begin to walk away with the man.

My father looked at me, a look that I couldn't read, and then he too began to walk away.


	4. Chapter 4

The car was silent on the drive home. Neither my father nor I said a word, and nary was a glance exchanged. I didn't understand why he was upset with me. I would have figured someone who came from his vantage point, someone who used to risk his life on a daily basis to save an innocent person would understand, and perhaps even be proud of me, but no. When he did look at me, there was a disappointment in his eyes, but I couldn't place for what. All I knew was that it made me feel like a disgrace.

When we approached the gates of the manor Alfred opened them without saying a word to my father through the intercom, which in itself was unusual, but perhaps Alfred had already heard wind of what happened at the ball. It wasn't unlikely. Alfred had a way of knowing things even before they happen.

My father strolled the car around the curved driveway and stopped it in front of the front doors, where Alfred waited as he cracked the doors, letting some of the light from inside glint out. Once the car was off, I unbuckled myself and stepped outside without a look or a word, and my father did the same. That was one thing I was sure I got from him, whether it's genetics or just years of living with him. He had a knack of never talking when he needed to, a knack of keeping everything locked up until a better, later time. Maybe it was a strength of his, a defense mechanism, but it drove me crazy. Turns out though, I'm the same way.

I approached the doorway first, and as I entered, Alfred gave me a certain look, a sort of look that didn't really say anything other than he knew something I didn't. I ironically got that look from him a lot. I pushed past him and began to take off my jacket, and placed it on the coat rack by the door. I figured that saying nothing would be better than saying the wrong thing, and so I decided to head upstairs, and I would just go to bed for the night. I didn't say anything though, and I didn't look at either of them. I felt a shame inside myself that I shouldn't have felt. I didn't do anything wrong, and I saved the mayor's life. But I still felt wrong.

I turned and began heading to the base of the steps, head low and arms hung at my sides. It's funny; I felt so beautiful but so messed up, and more than anything confused.

"Wait," said a voice from behind me that was too deep to be Alfred's. I cocked my head to the side to look at him, even though I didn't really want to. I didn't like to confront my father when he was upset with me. In my head, he was the face of justice, and anything below that wasn't worth his time. And I felt below him right now. "We're going to talk about this." His face was stern, and I knew he was serious, but not just a normal serious, something beyond. He pointed towards the couch, and I knew better than to disobey him, no matter how much everything inside of me was screaming to just go upstairs. I walked over and seated myself on the edge of the sofa.

I was leaned over and my head was down, and my fingers were tied together. I heard the taps of his feet on the tiles walking over towards me. With each tap getting louder and closer, the more guilt compiled on me, but I didn't know why. I didn't know why I felt guilt at all. Or maybe it wasn't guilt, but regret. Regret of standing up to injustice and saving an innocent man's life. No, it wasn't regret or guilt. But it was the only kind of fear that my father, and my father alone could make me feel.

I could see his shoes in my vision, and I knew he was standing above me. I didn't know where Alfred scurried off to. He was waiting for me to lift my head up, to look him in the eyes, I know, but I couldn't bring myself to.

"Do you know that what you did tonight could have gotten you killed?" It sounded like such a simple question, but a million answers flew through my head, none of them worth the audibility though. I nodded my head. "Why did you do that, Alex?" His voice had changed, it was softer, a more genuine question. I felt safe enough to lift my head and look at him, but his eyes still got to me. They had disappointment carved into them. Just as before, answers flew through my head, and I really could have said anything that sounded plausible, anything that could have a chance of getting me out of trouble. But I couldn't. Because this time it wasn't a matter of getting out of trouble.

"I couldn't just sit there and watch an innocent man be killed. Something had to be done." I tried to sound sure of myself, to sound brave, but bravery is not something easy to have when you're staring at the man who invented fear dead in the eyes.

"Yes, but Alex that wasn't your place to do anything." His voice elevated again but not as much as before, it still had a parental touch to it, as if I was getting scolded for taking something that wasn't mine or breaking a vase. My father began to walk around a bit, pace even. He looked restless.

"Who says? Dad, I saved a man's life tonight. Isn't that worth something?"

"Yes, but don't you realize you put your own in jeopardy? Doesn't that click in your head? Alex, suppose that man wasn't so slow on the trigger, suppose he had pulled it and shot you. You would have been dead, I would have lost you. And do you know what I would do if I lost you? I don't even know what I'd do. Doesn't that give any reaction to anything in your head?" His voice was getting louder and louder, and he had stopped pacing. He was looking me straight in the eyes, giving me a look I had never seen on his face before, and I didn't like it.

"I did the right thing."

"You did something foolish."

He looked at me for a long while, as if he was trying his hardest to mentally stress to me what I did, but I already knew. And I wasn't going to let him convince me otherwise. Finally he turned his back to me, and he looked to be about to walk away. But I knew if I didn't say what was in my head now, I would never get the chance to again.

"Batman would have done it." Almost as if on cue, every bone in his body froze in its exact position, and I even think he gasped slightly. I knew he hated my words, I knew he hated them even before I said them. But that didn't make them any less true.

His head turned slowly, almost like an owl turning its head, creepy yet completely and utterly fearful. His mouth was open in shock, and nothing else on his body moved.

"Excuse me?" He sounded offended, and I couldn't blame him. I stood up from the couch, tired of cowering.

"Gotham still needs a hero Dad, they still need you. And tonight proved that more than ever." His body unfroze, and he turned around completely, and walked towards me slightly. Even though I decided not to be scared anymore, he still towered over me, and still made me think twice before I spoke.

"No, tonight proves that you did a very stupid thing. You can't compare what you did to heroism. A hero doesn't put his own life in jeopardy without thinking every possible outcome through first. A hero does what is right, but doesn't do it blindly. Gotham will always have criminals but that's what the police are there for. Gotham is nothing now like it was way before you were born. That Gotham needed a hero, they needed a Batman. This Gotham doesn't." He wasn't yelling, but he wasn't quite talking. It was almost a sense of urgency in his voice, and I think that made me uneasy more than anything else.

I couldn't completely disagree with him. The Gotham from before I was born was a nightmare, or at least something straight out of a nightmare, times when The Joker, Harvey Dent, and Bane practically ran the city, and nearly ran it into the ground. Those were hellish times, and Gotham needed the Batman more than ever then, but that doesn't mean they don't still now.

"I wasn't scared tonight." I kept trying to make him see that even though my actions were quick and ill-planned, I would do it all over again. I saw him roll his eyes ever so slightly before looking back at me; his patience seemed to be running out, and I knew what that looked like. I couldn't push him too much further.

"Of course you weren't because you knew I was right there. You knew I wouldn't let anyone lay a finger on your much less kill you. And so you played a little game of chance that seemingly worked out for you. But what if I hadn't been there, Alex? What if I had been all the way across the room? Would you still have done what you did?" Without knowing it, as he spoke the realization came over me that it was true. He was the reason I wasn't scared, and I hated myself for that. Every ounce of me wanted to fight against his words, but I couldn't wholeheartedly. I said nothing.

He looked away from me, knowing he had been right. His back was to me, and one hand was on his hips, the other on his forehead. I stood there, trying to find anything in my brain to say that would make all this go away, to make this entire night disappear. But I couldn't do that either.

"Just go to bed. I've had enough with tonight."

I went upstairs without a word more.

Once changed from my dress and in my night wear, I wanted nothing more than to just sleep and sleep forever, and never have to wake up and face my father, and ultimately have to apologize because I knew he was right. He had been right about everything, but I just wanted to believe that I did something worthy, something good enough to be a Wayne. But I couldn't. I knew when I did it that I was doing something stupid, but I never realized how stupid. And I felt like a wreck for using my father like that and never even noticing.

I climbed into my bed, and wanted to bury myself and suffocate in the sheets. But there was a knock on my door, and I knew that knock. It was Alfred, I knew; he had a very gentle and precise knock, whereas my father's is more all over.

"Come in," I said, though not too loudly, but I knew Alfred would hear me anyway. The door creaked open, as Alfred and a glass of water appeared from the hall. He shut the door behind him and came towards my nightstand, though stopping to look at me first.

"Your water, Miss." He placed it on the nightstand without much of a look to it, and it baffled me how he aimed and timed it good enough to not spill the water, though I leaned when I was young that Alfred is a man of great feats, and great mystery.

"Thank you." He nodded to me, and started off for the door again, but I knew him better than that, as did he to me. My eyes followed him almost all the way to the door before I spoke, which was what both he and I were waiting for. "Alfred?" He turned towards me, a sincere look on his face. I didn't have to bother explaining everything that happened tonight to him. He always knew everything.

"Yes, Miss?" I played with my sheets in between my fingers.

"Why isn't my father Batman anymore?" His eyes played a game if only for a second or so, they flashed from playful to serious, back to playful again. He took a few steps towards me, his face though on me, looked lost in thought.

"You know as well as I do that your father has reasons for things that most people would never think of. But, I believe his reason this time, is a pretty good one." I furrowed my brows, trying to figure out his impossible riddles that I thought were beautiful as well as mind numbing all at once. A smile as small as can be appeared on his lips.

"So you don't know?"

"Oh, I know. But you don't have to. At least, not yet. Goodnight, Miss Alex." He tipped his head to me, and walked out of the room, closing my door behind him. I smiled to myself slightly. Part of me was happy he didn't tell me, because another part of me knew the reason why. And I knew I wasn't ready to hear it.


	5. Chapter 5

When my eyes opened, all I wanted to do was shut them again and live in my sleep. I tossed and turned, hoping that sleep would invade me again, but had no such luck. With the opening of an all too awake eye, I saw the sun barely shining through the crack in my curtains, casting lines of light across my walls. I didn't know what time is was, and I didn't care.

I would apologize to my father today, and hopefully he would forget about this whole mess as would I, and we would go on living together as if nothing happened. It would be easier that way; simple, and I knew it was the right thing to do anyway. Aside from the scene at the ball, I had been disrespectful to my father last night, and for that he did deserve an apology. And so I would apologize and forget.

But I didn't want to forget.

Whether my comments last night were rude or not, it didn't make them false. Gotham did still need a hero, even if it's not my father.

But I wanted it to be him. I still remember when I was younger and I would see the reports on the news about him, about how he saved so many people and put so many criminals to justice. It was inspiring to watch, to know that while the rest of the city see only a masked man, I saw my father doing everything in his power to protect the city and people he loved. It was inspiring, and my father was not just Gotham's hero, but mine; and I looked up to him so with sparkles in my eyes. Nowadays, I still looked up to him, but the sparkles are gone.

When the lines of light that broke into my room moved from my walls to my floors, I decided it was time to get myself out of bed, and quit wasting away my morning by laying in bed and dreaming of the past. I fought with my sheets to find the edge of my bed, and I slide myself down; the tiles not as cold on my feet today. I walked through the gap of my bed and the door, and opened it but only slightly. I poked my head out, making sure to look each way before I made a move. I didn't want to really talk to anyone at the moment, neither my father nor Alfred. The coast seemed to be clear, and so I made my way into the hallway.

I began walking towards the stairs, when I passed by the piano room that wasn't too far down from my own. I thought back to when I stumbled across the Batcave when I was younger, and how I had thought it was the coolest thing I had ever laid my own eyes on. I remember my father being horrified when he found me down there, and tried to tell me that I was sleepwalking, and that everything I saw was a dream, but I was too old to fool. I knew what I saw, and it only made me admire my father more. It caused him to tell me about what he did for Gotham, to him admitting to being the Batman, and it was then that I knew I had the coolest dad in the world.

My feet stopped as an idea slithered its way up my spine and into the deepest part of my brain, taunting and teasing me, daring and temping me. I stood in the middle of the hallway; no one was around. From where I stood, I could see the piano through the doorway, and beyond that I could see the bookcase, and I didn't have to see to know what was behind it. The idea planted itself and began to grow; seeming more and more temping every second longer I stared. I looked all around me once more, insuring my solitude. Once I was sure, my feet began to carry me towards the piano. I suddenly felt in the mood to hear a little music.

I felt like sneak, an intruder in my own house as I seemingly tiptoed through the doors, and shut them precisely behind me. I walked gingerly over to the piano and stared at it for a moment. Beyond my memory of it allowing me to find the Batcave, I remember hundreds of nights when I was younger and I would be laying in bed, and hear the melody that my father played echo through the halls and lull me to sleep. I would watch him sometimes, and I loved how his fingers would seemingly glide from key to key, like a ballerina dancing on a melody. It made me smile subconsciously to think about it.

I approached the piano, and I didn't bother to sit down. I stood above it and bent over, my fingers taking their places above the keys, ready to play a magical code. I had always remembered the melody as simple but beautiful, and ever since I accidentally entered it in when I was younger, it had stuck with me. I began to play each key, only five keys total, and as I removed my finger from the last key, the bookcase was brought to life, and moved itself sideways, allowing room for one person to squeeze through. With a last look over my shoulder, I walked through and it closed behind me.

There was an old elevator in front of me, one that most people wouldn't trust to look at, but it carried my father for years, and I had no reason to doubt it now. I got myself on, and pushed the only button on it that was still lit up. It made me wonder how many years had gone by since it had been pushed. The elevator spat for a second, before it began to gently lower me. The walls around me turned from cement to stone in front of my very eyes, and I could hear the water. I always thought the Batcave was more than just a place for my father to hide his toys and gadgets; it was a very relaxing place as it had just the perfect amount of sunlight seeping through, and was surrounded by waterfalls. It was beautiful, except for the thousands of bats that flew around, but if you were down there enough, the bats became beautiful too.

The elevator stopped and I was exposed to my father's lost world, still as beautiful as the first time I ever laid eyes on it, and still as magical as well. But I didn't come down here to gawk at the sights. Actually, I didn't really know what I came down here for. All I knew was that I had to.

Everything was just as he left it; his computers and weapons, his car and motorcycle, and of course, the thing that made him exactly who he was, and Gotham's hero, the bat suit. It stood in a glass container just before the waterfall, and I realized how long it had been since I had seen that suit, and I felt sadness and nostalgia all at once.

I went towards it, and remembered it from the eyes of a child. It still had every scratch left on it, every cut and bum, and staring at it, that was when I realized everything I had been wondering and thinking about last night ever since I made the decision to stand up to that gunman. Gotham still needed a hero, and if it wasn't going to be my father, it would have to be the next best thing.

I placed a hand on the glass that separated myself and the suit and all the good that it stood for and I knew for sure that was what I needed to do. That was how I would live up to my father's name, that's how I would be great. I slide my hand from the glass down to the handle, and pulled, revealing every ounce of justice it stood for. It would be big on me, and I thought maybe I should just craft my own suit, become my own hero. I extended a hand out, just to stroke the suit, to get a feeling of what I had missed for so many years.

"You're quite the piano player, Miss Alex."

Startled beyond compare, I twirled around at the speed of light; even though I knew I had nothing to fear in actuality because I knew Alfred's voice. He stood at the other entrance to the cave, and simply stood, did nothing more. I tried to control my heart rate.

"Alfred, you nearly scared me half to death." I saw a smirk appear on his face, but it was gone within seconds. He began to walk carefully over the rocky surface of the cave towards me; his hands behind his back, and stopped when he was only a bit away. I stood where I was, and stood until I felt my blood pressure return to normal.

"My apologies, miss." Again, there was a slight playfulness to his words, and I knew Alfred loved catching me doing something I wasn't supposed to. He was good at it too. "But if I may, what are you doing down in a place like this when your breakfast is up in the dining room?"

"This isn't the dining room?" I got a full grin out of that one, and I felt partly proud of myself. It wasn't always an easy feat to get Alfred to find something humorous, even though I knew our conversation was about to turn from humorous to serious within a matter of seconds.

"I'm afraid not." And just like that, his smile vanished, along with his playfulness, at least for the moment.

I looked down and sighed, followed by turning back towards the glass the suit was in, and shutting it again. My eyes went back to him, and I expected him to say something fatherly or something above me none the less, but what he did say, shocked me.

"You know, I miss the Batman too." His eyes were sad, and I could tell he was sincere. I never would have guessed he missed it as much as I did; he always seemed to act indifferent about it. Though, perhaps that was his defense.

"You do?" He nodded slightly, and then held his arm out towards a pile of rocks that would serve as a seat. He and I both made way for it, and sat down besides each other. He opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but nothing came out, until a moment later, as if what he was going to say before wasn't good enough.

"It was exciting, and I knew he was doing a lot of good for the city."

"The city still needs him, Alfred." He paused, frozen in thought almost, and I couldn't tell if he agreed with me or not, but I knew whatever was about to come out of his mouth was knowledge that I would never be able to comprehend.

"Need and want are two very different things, Miss Alex. And while I admit years ago, Gotham was the black hole of cities, and a hero was needed if there was any chance of the city living on. But there did come a time of peace, and while a hero was always wanted, he was less needed. Do you understand?" He sounded as old as Father Time, and just about as wise too.

And I did understand. But it didn't change my mind. I looked up to him, trying to speak to his eyes more than anything, because I knew if I won his eyes, I'd win his side.

"I do understand, but the people of this city don't know that. The people of this city don't know any better, and now that Batman has been gone for so many years, criminals are starting to think they can get away with things again. Gotham is like a child, immature and selfish. And someone, no matter whether they're needed or wanted, has to set these people straight, and if not my father, then I will. Someone needs to fix this city." His brows rose at me, shocked no doubt. But he stayed level headed, and just eyed me, his expression unreadable.

"Yes, but not a sixteen year old." He sounded like my father on that one. "Do you understand that your father went through immense training of combat as well as of his mind in order to do what he did? He trained under one of the most elite fighting organizations in the world, Miss, and you can't even kill the spider in your room by yourself." I knew he had every upper hand possible in this argument, but that didn't faze me; I wouldn't let it. I knew I would have to train, and I knew I was going to get hurt, but that didn't change anything in my head. I looked him straight in the eyes.

"I want to help people, Alfred." He didn't say anything, he just stared at me, and it felt like pity, but also a sense of something else. He looked down and sighed, before staring ahead, perhaps taking in all the items in the cave. I looked too, and I saw right in front of me my father's legacy, and I wanted nothing more than to honor it.

"You know, when your father started this years ago he said that to me too." He turned his head to me, his eyes on mine. "And just as with your father, no matter how crazy it sounds, I will support and help you in whatever you do."

I felt my mouth smile before I could even know I was doing it. I placed an arm around him and hugged him, and I could feel him regretting his words, but I knew he wouldn't take them back. "However," he said, and I looked upwards to him, but only saw that he was pointing to the suit. "I don't think that comes in a medium petite."


	6. Chapter 6

I didn't want to tell my father.

I knew that if I told him that I wanted to begin to pursue a career of fighting crime, the first thing he would do is say no and lock me in my room, if he knew that would keep me safe. Growing up, my father had never been strict with me, and I often got to do what I wanted, but if I ever asked to do anything that had the slightest percent of a chance of me getting injured in the process, the answer was almost always a no. He got better with that when I got older, but his protectiveness still remained. He always told me that the world was like a fox; seemingly innocent, but as sly as the devil.

And so I didn't want to tell him. I knew that things from last night were still too fresh to talk about, and I knew that he was worried that I might make a hero of myself and risk my own life daily. I think that's why he got upset with me last night. He doesn't want to lose me.

Nonetheless, I asked Alfred to help me. Alfred didn't know much about the art of fighting, or really anything that my father would excel in, but he did know some from watching my father over the years, and listening to him when he spoke, and tending to his wounds. Alfred knew enough about fighting and defense that if ever he was attacked, he would make it out alive. And that's all I needed.

I asked him to help me the next day, and so, unable to refuse my offer, we waited until my father made his way off to Wayne Enterprises and Alfred and I headed down into the Batcave once again. It was comforting with Alfred; I knew he wouldn't pressure anything on me and I could learn the steps and moves as quickly or as slowly as I wanted. Not to mention, there wasn't an excellent amount of moves to learn.

We went over to the more open area of the Batcave, however the ground was pure rock, and I knew it would hurt terribly if I fell, but I would have to take that chance. I couldn't risk training outside where someone might see me, and even worse tell my father. Alfred had told me that since he didn't know much, that he would only teach me the basic things that he thought would give me the most protection and the best upper hand in combat.

He told me that he would only teach me self defense, only because that was the only thing he knew well enough to teach to someone else. With us being each other's dummies, he stood only a couple feet from me, but close enough that if he reached out he would be able to touch me.

"Miss Alex, the first thing to always keep in mind when in an encounter with someone is to always be aware of your surroundings, and everything that is going on. If there is more than one person coming at you, try as best you can to keep an eye on all of them. Do you understand? This is the most crucial part of self defense." I nodded at him. I had seen enough videos on the internet of my father as the Batman recorded in secret to know that the thing he was amazing at, was knowing what everyone was doing at the same time. "Alright then. Now onto combat."

He stuck his hand out quickly, and he looked as if he was about to poke me in the eyes, so I shut them tightly, awaiting the hit, but nothing ever came, and I just as quickly reopened them, only to see that his hand was hovering not even an inch from my face.

"One of the weakest parts of the body is the eyes. If you act as if you are about to hit them, they will involuntarily close their eyes, and be rendered blind if only temporarily. In doing so, this is the time to really attack, but it must be done quickly. Immediately go for the other weaker parts of the body, such as the neck, knees, legs, and of course, the groin." I nodded at him once again, writing every word he said down in my head in a mental notebook, and praying their words burned into my memory.

He began to show me different moves to do, using me as a dummy, but never actually hitting or kicking me, and I would repeat them and try them on him, still never actually hitting him. He told me a plethora of things that would come in handy and every one I could I would try out on him first. He told me how to fall without getting hurt, or more so catch myself before I completely hit the ground, which not only could hurt me, but could render myself useless and completely vulnerable. He told me to always keep my hands up; they can protect my stomach and face if needed; he said it's better to get shot in the arm than the chest. He told me which parts of the body were the strongest and would inflict the most damage; those being the elbows, knees, and head if needed. Every word he said was recited over and over again in my brain within a matter of a minute, in order to remember these tactics, the tactics that could be a difference of life and death.

With every new thing he said or showed me, I couldn't help but think of my father; of him doing the same things I was, of him training just the same as I was. I imagined him out in the streets of Gotham, dealing with hooligans and goons and using the exact same tactics on them. Though somehow it wasn't the same in my mind, even though we went through the same motions.

Within a little bit short of three hours, I felt stronger, even though I knew I hadn't actually gained any muscle mass, though my mindset felt superior. Alfred had pulled out one of the fighting dummies and I practiced each tactic on him until I knew them all by heart. Alfred would yell out scenarios, and I would have to act and attack according to them and within those three hours, I felt a sense of power I had never known, and I had a sense of invincibility.

I knew I wasn't, but that didn't stop the feeling.

It was an hour after Alfred and I had finished that my father called to let me know that he would not be home for dinner; that he would be working late tonight, and may not be home until the early hours of the morning. He explained to me that something went wrong with one of the machines in the office, and that an entire process that takes many hours would have to be repeated. I didn't really listen to that part though, I was too excited.

When I pushed the button to end the phone call, I had a small smile on my face that in reality really shouldn't have been there, but I couldn't make it go away either. I called for Alfred and I ran around the first floor of the manor until I almost literally bumped into him in the kitchen.

"Yes, Miss Alex?" He was in the process of making dinner; some sort of chili or gumbo. My father loved spicy food, and I liked it because it made the entire house smell like spices.

"My dad isn't going to be home until late, maybe even middle of the night." He stood above the pot he was stirring, looking at his creation, but nodded his head at me.

"I know; he called me too."

"I want to go out tonight." His hand stopped its stirring motion, and his eyes automatically found mine. My smile had vanished, in order to make myself look more serious. Alfred stared at me, perhaps trying to figure out my motives, but I made sure my look was unreadable.

"Miss, you've only had one day of training. I can't advise that would be safe." I shook my head at him.

"It doesn't matter. I don't really intend to do anything tonight. Alfred, I know this city needs a hero but I don't even know what condition the city is in. I just want to go out and check it out first hand." My father didn't let me out much without him, and I didn't have many friends to enjoy the city with. I was partially blind to what kind of crime I wanted to help prevent that really lived in this city.

He stared at me, and not just with his eyes, with his entire body. I felt him trying to figure me out, examine me, and make sense of my words with every bone in his body, because I felt it in mine. But this was what I wanted to do. I knew I wasn't good enough to really do any damage yet, but I needed to see what I was up against. His eyes tore from me, and he let out a sigh. Alfred only sighs when he's defeated.

"You are so much like your father."

I smiled; I had never been compared to my father before in my life, at least not on something important like this. It was nice to be compared to someone so legendary, even if most of the city didn't know why he was legendary.

"Alright," I heard Alfred say. His eyes were back on me again, but with a stern look. "You can go out tonight. But only for two hours. And I'm putting a tracking device on you." He sounded much like my father with those words. "If something happens to you, your father will have my head." That sounded more like Alfred.

We drove out to the roughest part of Gotham, the east side. There really was no safe part of Gotham, but as far as the smaller districts go, the east side was where at least forty percent more of the crime happens. Alfred wasn't happy when I asked to go there, but he knew I had good intentions. I still knew he was nervous for me though.

Alfred gave me a mask. It was small, and only really covered the upper part of my head as well as my eyes and nose. It was a makeshift mask, but I was better than just a ski mask. When he handed it to me, I had looked at him with a confused face, and he responded very simply. "You don't wear a mask to protect yourself. You wear it to protect the people you love. Your father taught me that." I put it on without any questions.

He put a tracking device in with the mask, and I didn't mind. It actually made me feel a little more comfortable, but there was always that thought in the back of my mind that told me that the tracking device could be helpful to find my body, but my body didn't have to be alive. But I tried to keep those kinds of thoughts out of my mind.

He dropped me off in front of a notoriously brutal and murderous bar, even though I had no intent on going inside, and couldn't even if I tried due to my age. I stepped out of the car when no one was around, and ducked my head back in to look at Alfred; his face was sullen, and I knew what he was feeling, because I felt it in my gut as well.

"Please be careful Miss. And if at any time you feel unsafe, call and I will be here within minutes." I smiled at him gently. He really was like a grandfather to me.

"I will, I promise." And I meant it, no matter how unafraid and brave I might have thought I was.

He drove away, and I was left alone on the east side of Gotham; home to murders, muggings, rapes, and anything else you could think of. It's been done here.

My mission tonight was to try and get a feel of what kind of criminals I would be dealing with, and to get an idea of how troubled my city really was. Sitting up in the castle of Gotham City doesn't really let me know what everyone else has to deal with on a daily basis, or help me to understand why there's so much crime here. But those may very well be questions with answers that cease to exist.

I wandered around for most of the time. I walked past bars and clubs, dingy restaurants and cheap hotels; all of them bustling with people who looked about as clean as the dirt on their shoes, and about just as much dignity to match. Buildings were missing parts and broken cars slept in the alleyways. The streets themselves seemed to be layered in anything but street, be that water, dirt, mud, or who knows what else. I saw people being rough with one another, and heard every swear word I knew of, and even some I hadn't. People got hit and punched, and I saw the flashing of red and blue lights constantly. I saw gestures that were suggestive, and some people got offended, and everyone normally ended up yelling and screaming and swearing even more and much louder. And I felt bad for them.

I hid behind things as much as I could, such as old boxes, trash cans, the dead cars in the alley, anything that would conceal me from these people. As much as I wanted to help them, I was just as much wary of them, and didn't trust any of them, no matter how seemingly innocent they looked, or sounded, or acted.

I would have to figure out how to help these people, and not just by getting the cruel and unjust people out of the way. This side of town was dying faster than the rest of Gotham; it was almost already a graveyard of dreams seeing as no one I saw seemed to really look to have any potential for moving forward in life. They all seemed a kind of sad that can't really be described, only felt, and you know that sad when you feel it. The kind of sad that nothing can fix.

But I wanted to fix it, and I was determined to figure out a way to.

I was hiding behind a waste barrel when I heard loud obnoxious laughing and the tipping over of what sounded like trash cans. The barrel I was behind housed the shadows, and I felt safe. I was in the middle of an alleyway, and it sounded like people were going to be walking through. I saw shadows appear on the opposite wall at the end of the alley, and from what I could make out there were three of them, and I kept reminding myself to just lay low and be quiet and they won't mess with me. But from the shadows, I could see a story unfolding, like a puppet show. Two people were cornering the third, but I couldn't make out what they were saying; their voices were too muffled and slurred.

From the shadows on the wall, I could see the two people beginning to punch the third. I had seen multiple people get punched and kicked, and even bitten and scratched tonight, and I did nothing because I didn't really want to make my presence known. And with this one as well, I didn't plan to do anything.

Until that person began to scream for help.

It was a wailing scream, a beg of mercy, and it irritated and fired up my soul, and I knew I had to do something. The other fights I had seen today had been mutual at least, two parties fighting against each other equally. But this, this was unfair and unjust, and I couldn't just sit still.

Without thinking, I stood myself up, and executed away from the shadows, in a march of patronage, and rounded the corner of the alley as I was exposed to the whole scene I had acted out for me on the wall. It was two men who were beating a third smaller man, and I could hear the man's screams so clearly now, that it angered me more than anything.

"Hey!" I yelled stupidly. The two larger men paused from punching and kicking the third for a moment, and the smaller man looked up to me with as much strength as he had left; there was deadness in his eyes. And they just stared, and I can only imagine what they're thinking. A small girl with a hoodie and a mask on just yelled at them for mugging someone. I waited for the laughter, but got none.

"Well hello there gorgeous," one of the larger men said. He had sleeves of tattoos running down both his arms and a psychotic look.

"Let that man go." I sounded so much more confident than I felt. But it was the same feeling I had when I saved the mayor. I didn't care about much at the moment than helping that littler man, and I was. So I had no fear.

To my complete and utter surprise, between an exchanged glace from the tattooed man to the other, they instantly dropped the other man, at to which he gave me a stare for a moment, almost as if he was too surprised they let him go, and too thankful to me to really comprehend what just happened. Within moments, he got himself up and ran away. And I was happy and content with myself for just possibly saving another life.

That is, until I realized what I was left with.

The tattooed man and the other began to walk towards me, both with despicable grins on their face; the other man had a toothy smile which sent shivers up and down my spine. Every bone in my body tightened.

"I'm sorry, princess, we were just having some fun with good old Bones," said the tattooed man. I guessed that Bones was the smaller man, probably nicknamed that after how thin and small he was. The men exchanged another glace, an unspoken conversation going on I'm sure.

"Yeah, it was all just a bit of fun," the other man said. I knew I needed to say something, I needed to sound strong and confident, but I couldn't speak, and I couldn't tell if that was out of fear or nervousness.

They kept walking closer to me, too close for my comfort, and almost immediately, the list of moves and techniques that Alfred showed me today flew through my mind faster than anything I had ever thought of before.

"How's about we have a little fun with you instead, sweetheart?" The tattooed man spoke, and it was only now that I really heard the man talk, and his speech was extremely slurred, and sounded drowsy.

"Yeah, I bet you're real fun to play with." It was the other one who spoke this time, and his words were slurred as well. Since they were so close to me now, not even two feet away, I could smell alcohol, and it was very clear now that these men were beyond the line of drunk, and I, was now admittedly, beyond the line of nervous. Not quite scared or frightened, but anxious enough that my stomach was having a diving competition, and every contestant was winning.

I was still, but the tattooed man reached out to touch me, and I instinctively swatted his hand away. He didn't like that much, and grew angry. He grabbed me, and slammed me into the wall behind me. "You're pretty feisty. I like that." His head was only inches away from mine, and I felt myself shaking, but I knew I still wasn't scared, only trying to remember how to get out of a position like this. "I really like your mask. I think it's pretty sexy. But you're probably a whole lot sexier without that…and the rest of your clothes."

Panic more than fear streamed through every inch of my body in that second, and without a single thought, I lifted my knee up and rammed it as hard as I could into the man's groin. He involuntarily released me and backed away some, and fell to his knees, his hands on his groin, and only humble whimpers now escaping him. The other man however, now not in such a playful mood, lunged towards me, at to which I backed away, but not quickly enough that he wasn't able to punch me.

He punched me in my abdomen, and I bent over in pain, even though I tried to stay as alert to what was going on as possible, but as soon as I looked back up, another punch was thrown and nailed me straight in the shoulder, and I couldn't pretend to not feel the pain anymore. My arms were around my stomach, and I knew they should have been up protecting myself, but by the time that I managed to move them upward, the man gave me one more blow, this time across my face, and I stumbled on my feel for a second before initially falling. I hadn't had the mindset to remember how to stop myself from falling, and so I fell, and lay in the street.

I was in so much pain, but I knew I had to get up, and I wanted to get up, but I couldn't find my strength. Through scrunched eyes from a horizontal view, I saw the man who beat me helping to pick up the tattooed man, who was still clearly recovering from the blow to his groin. Once up, the tattooed man gave me a look, and that look was the most terrifying thing I had seen all night.

"This isn't over," he said over his shoulder, and I laid in pure agony and, now present stimulating fear, and I knew I had to call Alfred.

Inside the mask, Alfred had installed a small button, that if I ever wanted him before the two hours were up, he would come and get me. With the little strength that I felt left in my arms, I reached up and pressed it, and waited for a car to come. He was here within five literal minutes, and I was still lying on the ground. The car pulled up, and he stopped and got out, and ran to me in a panic, asking if I was alright, what happened, if I could walk, and I answered with a little effort as possible.

"Can you please take me home?" I heard myself ask, but I felt like a weasel when I asked; I was small and defenseless, and I felt beaten.

"Of course, Miss Alex." And without a second word or thought, he helped me into the car, and began to drive back to the manor as I basked in the horror of how disappointed my father would be in me if he knew.


	7. Chapter 7

I sat on the couch in the den, and the fireplace was the only source of heat in the room, but it was enough to keep me warm enough. I felt better than I had when Alfred picked me up, but I still hurt. It was sore to bend over, thanks to the punch in my abdomen, and I knew there would be a horrendous bruise present by the time I woke up the next morning. My shoulder as well was already showing signs of bruising, as to there was a large circular area that was a shade of purple and black, and it made me sick to look at it. From the blow to my face, my lip had begun to bleed, and bleed badly. It was one of those kinds of cuts that kept bleeding even when you seemingly already let every ounce of liquid out.

I sucked on my lip to help and keep my blood from getting all over, but it only filled my mouth with the disgusting metallic taste of it. I heard someone coming down the stairs, and saw Alfred walk through the doors with a hand cloth and a bag of ice. He stood only a few feet from me when he took both items, and wrapped the cloth around the ice bag, and handed it to me. I took it, and looked at him strangely, as to which he replied: "It's for your lip." He sat down across from me in the singular chair, and I pressed the cold to my lip, which, even if it didn't stop the bleeding, it made it feel better.

I think Alfred was mad at me, or at least disappointed in me. But I couldn't really blame him, I was furious with myself. I could have defended myself, I knew how to, but I was in too much shock to even think of what to do next. I keep trying to tell myself that it could have ended so much worse, but that didn't lighten much. It only reminded me that I could have responded differently.

Alfred shifted in his seat, and I looked up to him. He was staring at the fire, and the embers mirrored in his eyes. He looked really old in that moment. The light from the fire seemed to illuminate and burn alive each wrinkle on his face, and his eyes were sullen. His old fingers were crossed on his lap, and he was leaning over in a sad way, if that's possible. I often forgot just how old he actually was. Even though he was only in his fifty's, after years of assisting my father and tending to his injuries and all the emotional pain that I'm sure went along with him being Batman, Alfred is old beyond his years. And I felt bad for adding to that pain. His head turned to me.

"So, care to tell me what happened out there, Miss?" He still sounded so gentle, and I knew more than anything, more than anger or disappointment, he was worried for me. I took the ice away from my mouth.

"Two men were beating up a third. And the guy was screaming for help, and I couldn't let him just take that when I was there, when I could have saved him. And I did. But I didn't think before I did anything. I just did it. And that stupidly left me with two angry, and apparently horny drunk guys. They came near me, and I kicked one of them in between the legs, and he fell to the ground, but then I forgot about the other, and before I could do anything, he began to punch me, and after the first punch, I was too stunned to even try to do anything."

While I spoke, I made a realization. I don't think before I act. I didn't think at the ball, and I didn't think tonight, and both times I could have been killed for it. I thought of my father, and how for years he would hide in the shadows and think and make plans of what to do before he did anything. I thought of how he would have reacted if he saw me tonight, and I instantly wanted to stray from that thought. Alfred sighed and gave me a meaningful look, one that I couldn't explain if I tried.

"You're a very smart girl, Miss Alex. But when you see someone in trouble, you tend to forget everything else. You forget risks and threat, and you take any chance you can to help that person. You forget that you exist in the world, and that you are not invincible, and your only mission is to save that person. And while that sort of quality is highly admirable, it's your weakness. And if you ever one day hope to be a real hero of Gotham, a hero like your father, you're going to have to destroy that weakness."

I knew he was right. If I ever wanted to be as great as my father, I couldn't afford to make any mistakes like that. I couldn't allow myself to.

"Miss," he said to get my attention again. His eyes were green, but they looked yellow by the fire, and they stared intently into mine. "If you really intend to continue this hero business, you need to tell your father. He can help you with things that I know nothing about. He can train with you and show you moves and tactics that I could never dream of, and he can show you all the thousands of ways to save people, without putting your own life in jeopardy. You must tell him, because if you don't…," he paused for a moment, and took a moment to stare a little harder at me, but with a soft look, one of regret and disappointment. "If you don't, I won't allow you to go out anymore."

It scared me to tell my father, only because I wouldn't be able to bear it if he forbad me from going out and trying to help people; if he forbad me from even trying. But as usual, Alfred was right. My father could help me, that is, if he allowed me to fight, and honestly, I would love to be the underling of a fighter like him; one of the best this world has ever seen.

"I'll tell him."

"Good. Now you best get up to bed. Injuries heal fastest while you sleep." I still heard the disappointment in his voice, and I couldn't really imagine what possible thoughts were scrolling through his mind at the moment, but then I figured it's best if I didn't know. I just nodded, and went up to bed.

My father's voice woke me up the next morning. I was buried under my sheets when I heard him speaking, though I couldn't make out what he was saying, but I knew his voice well enough to know it was him, even through the walls. He was close to my door, that much was evident, and he was speaking to Alfred. I forced myself to wake up some; it was much earlier than I normally woke up. I stirred in my bed through the tangled sheets, and opened and closed my eyes to get used to being awake. I then stilled my movements in order to be quiet, and I tried to listen as well as I could.

"Must you really go back?" That was Alfred.

"I'm afraid so. Those papers need to be in by this afternoon and I'm the only one who can finalize them." He was talking about work. I wasn't sure when my father got home last night, but I had been looking forward to him being home today, despite what I had agreed with Alfred. I didn't like it when he worked the entire day; it made the manor much quieter and all that much lonelier. I love Alfred, but he and I didn't have the relationship my father and I had; I don't think any daughters and fathers had the relationship we had. Neither my father nor I had any real friends, and either by default, or by choice, we were each other's best friend, and going a day without really talking to him was hard sometimes.

But now it mattered in a light that it didn't before. I would have to catch him and talk to him before he left because there was no telling what time he might come back tonight.

There was more muffled talking, but I stopped listening. I burrowed my way through my sheets to find the end, and once I did I popped myself out of bed and tiptoed my way across the floor to my dresser. There was only limited light in my room as to the fact that it was still early, but I couldn't turn my light on and give away the fact that I was awake; not yet. I had slept in a tank top, and if I ran out like this, my now probably hideous bruise on my shoulder would be exposed for all to see, and my father couldn't—not yet.

I opened my dresser and searched for a sweatshirt in the dim light, when I began to hear the sound of fading footsteps and the voices grew faint, and I realized that my father was going to leave _now._ Now in a rush, I grabbed the first sweatshirt I saw and quickly threw it over my head, hurting my shoulder in the process, but too frantic to really care. I made my way to the door and cracked it only slightly, peeking an eye out first, and gradually then my head. I wanted to act like I naturally just woke up, and wasn't in a hurry. No one was near my door or even in my hall, but I could still hear the faint voices, and I could tell from how they sounded that they were in the main room, probably standing by the doors.

I escaped my room and skipped slightly my way down the hall and rounded to the stairs, and as sure as anything, I saw both Alfred and my father standing by the door, my father in the process of putting his jacket on, Alfred's hand on the doorknob.

I began to walk down the stairs as casually as I could, and once I got to about the middle, I spoke. "Where are you going?" I had tried to sound as innocent and sleepy as possible, even though the sleepy part wasn't really faked. Though I hoped my words didn't come out too quickly enough to give something away. My father met my eyes, and he smiled slightly, when in a domino effect lightened my mood if only by a bit.

"What are you doing up so early?"

"I don't know. I just woke up, and I heard your voices." It wasn't a complete lie, which made me feel a little better about what I was doing. I began to walk down the rest of the stairs as my father spoke.

"Well, I have to go back to work. We almost finished last night, but not quite, and there's still some stuff that needs to be looked over before it's sent out." I got to the bottom step just as he finished speaking, and I walked my way over. I refrained from looking at Alfred, only because he knew what I was doing.

"You'll be home later right?" He pulled up his arm to check the watch on his wrist, and then looked back up towards me. I stopped walking and stood only feet from him. I wasn't looking at Alfred, but I could feel his eyes on me.

"Yeah, I think so. It shouldn't take tha...what's on your lip, Alex?" My hand automatically went to my lip, which I had completely forgotten now holds a brand new cut that's as clear as day and as big as anything. It was now scabbed over, but it was still completely evident.

I stared at him; his face was a mixture between confusion and concern, and I looked at Alfred. Maybe that's why he was staring at me, because I had forgotten about one of my most obvious wounds from last night.

I knew this was the opportunity; this was my free shot to tell my father about what happened last night, and each second that ticked by that I was quiet I could feel my time running out and my chance fading.

But it was within those few seconds that I realized I didn't want to tell my father; more than that, I couldn't tell him. If I told him, all he would do is worry and stress about me, and I couldn't burden him with that anymore than he already worries about me. It was kind of odd, really, to think that Bruce Wayne, the billionaire who seemingly didn't care about much of anything, spent a good majority of his time thinking about me and worrying about me, and doing everything in his power to make sure I was safe and protected. Maybe it's a feeling that just comes along with parenting, the need to make sure that your child is safe. And I understood that, but I couldn't make him worry anymore. I just couldn't.

I looked at him, and with my hand still over my cut, I spoke, and sounded as convincing as possible.

"I must have bitten my lip in my sleep." I knew it was convincing because I used to have a problem with biting too much in my sleep when I was younger, and I would wake up all the time with new cuts on my lips, and on the inside of my cheek. He looked from me to Alfred for a second, whose face was expressionless, and I didn't know whether or not he was doing that for my benefit. But nonetheless, it was helpful to me. My father's eyes went back to me, and I saw him shrug slightly and fixed his coat.

"I hope you're not developing that habit again."

"I haven't done it in a long time, so I hope not." He looked to Alfred, who opened the door for him, and let in a wave of chilled air which flew through my hair and smacked me in the face, yet it was refreshing.

"Well, if it keeps happening, I guess we'll have to call the doctor again. But I have to go, so I'll see you later for dinner." He extended out an arm in an invitation for a hug, and I went to him without a thought. I roped my arms around him, and I wished with all my heart that I didn't have to keep lying to him. He let me go after a few seconds and gave me a smile. I considered saying 'I love you,' but I didn't. We didn't say that much, only because we knew we didn't have to.

"Bye, I'll see you later," he said as he walked through the doors.

"Bye," I responded. Alfred said goodbye as well, and he shut the door only once I saw my father reach his car. With the door shut, he looked at me, and it was a look that needed no words attached, because everything he was feeling was transferred to me within a glance. He then walked away.

I knew what this meant; that Alfred wouldn't allow me to go out anymore. And that was fine with me. Because in the moment I decided to lie to my father, I decided how the rest of my evening would go.

I was going out tonight with or without permission.


	8. Chapter 8

I waited until Alfred took his down time. He often in this time sits down in the den by the fireplace, plays one of his favorite records, and makes himself a pot of tea and sits down to read a book. I had always admired the way he spent his free time, it made him seem so revered and elegant. Though nonetheless, during this time, he often gets so wrapped up and enthralled in his readings that he pays no mind to the things around him.

It was getting to be dark out, and my father hadn't called yet, so I didn't figure I had to worry. My father said he would be home for dinner, but Alfred hadn't planned on starting dinner for another hour or so, and so it seemed to be the perfect time to go out. But I wouldn't allow myself to be stupid this time; I would plan ahead, at least some.

As quietly as possible, I tapped the magic keys on the piano down the hall from my room, and just as quiet, I slipped through and rather than taking the elevator, which I knew would make noise, I climbed my way down the badly crafted stairway. It took a little longer, and was much less comfortable, but it kept my cover safe.

I had only snuck out of the manor once before. I was nine, and I was mad at my father for making me come inside so early, causing me to have to stop playing with my friends at the time. I was angry with him, and I wanted to go back outside. So I snuck out through the Batcave, and ran back to the garden were my friends and I had been playing. But before I could reach them, I heard them through the bushes, and I will never in my life forget what they said, word for word. The garden we had been playing was the garden on our land, and it was absolutely beautiful. Alfred loved to garden in his spare time, and it was really his creation. There were flowers everywhere and even a fountain in the center of it, and I remember running through the mazes of the bushes all the time with my friends. But that one day, the day I snuck out was the last time I ever played with them.

As I hide behind the shrub I listened to my friends talk.

"I can't believe Alex really thinks we're friends with her."

"I know, I just love playing in the garden."

"I'm glad Mr. Wayne brought her in early, that way we can still play here without her."

"My daddy says that Mr. Wayne is a no good mutt with a lot of money and a lucky family. He didn't like that I played with his daughter."

"Good thing we don't actually like her."

And they all laughed. And I ran back inside and I cried on my father's lap for hours. They never played in the garden again. And I haven't had a real friend since.

I wiped the memories from my head and shook myself free of the emotions that still come crawling back with those thoughts.

I was going to need a weapon. I would need something to defend myself. Just self defense alone wouldn't do me any good if I can't go on the offensive too, and I would have to. With the trickling water and swirling bats as a backdrop, I walked myself over to the shelf where my father's weapons were held. I opened it slowly, unsure if any alarms would go off, but it seemed safe. I rifled through it, glancing over every item hoping that one would catch my eye, and none seemed to. They were all either too intricate or too big. Until I remembered one of my father's most useful items and I knew he kept them near the suit.

I hopped down from the rock I was on and walked my way over to the glass container that held the suit, the one that I still couldn't look at without feeling a mess of things that I couldn't process. I opened the glass, and without a doubt, there they were laying on a shelf close by. They were what I liked to call Bat Stars. They were a lot like Chinese throwing stars, except they were shaped like a bat and at each point there was a little needle that would inject a serum into the victim that momentarily paralyzed them. They were perfect for me because I didn't need to be close and they would do as much damage as I needed.

I took the only two that were on the shelf; I know there were extras, but I didn't know where my father kept them, and I figured this would be enough for just two drunken imbeciles. I stuffed them in my jacket pocket, and I grabbed the mask that Alfred had given me a day before.

I made my way to the outside of the manor through a small escape route in the back of the Batcave, and once outside, I knew that I was home free. I ran over the grass and past the garden to the shed where my bike was kept. I hopped myself on, slid my mask over my head, felt the weight of the Bat Stars in my pocket, and set off. And this time, I wouldn't be so weak.

Gotham City itself in reality actually wasn't all that big, and so I knew getting from the manor to the east side wouldn't take all that long, but still it was actually kind of interesting to ride past the richer part of town with its lavish houses, fancy buildings, and important stations and then gradually into the rickety areas that weren't so lovely, and were often the kind of places that parents would tell their children to avoid. But that wasn't the east side; that was just the bad part of town. Calling the east side the bad part of town was a compliment.

As I rode my way down the streets I could notice the air itself seeming to get heavier and muskier, and I could feel my paranoia growing the deeper in I ventured. I could feel the nervousness picking at my back, but I told myself that this time I wouldn't allow it in. And so on in I rode, until I reached the heart of the east side.

Every person I saw looked like someone I had once seen on a 'wanted' poster, and every pair of eyes that locked with mine sent a shiver down my spine. Part of me wondered if these people lived here by choice or by default. While this part of Gotham was known to be roughest, it was also the poorest, and just as I would see scoundrels and ruffians, I also saw very poor people, and I felt bad for them when I slept up in a castle every night. And I wished there was something I could do for these people, but I felt like if they couldn't help themselves, how could I ever try to?

My pedaling was slower and I tried to be aware of everything going on around me. I tried to search for the bar that I had passed last night, because I knew chances were that those two men came from there. As I thought about it, I knew it sounded crazy, almost suicidal to go out and search for the two people who gave me bruises to wear, but I also kept trying to remind myself that if my father did it, I could do it.

I eventually found the bar, and I knew it more by the smell than the sight. It had the smell of beer and fear emitting from it, and once you smell a scent like that, it's not one you're likely to forget. I knew because of my age I wouldn't be allowed inside, and that was alright. I would just wait outside for them in the same alleyway that I had been in before. I got off my bike and walked it as I tried to find the correct alley, the alley that gave me a puppet show of someone being beaten to death, a puppet show that made me think without acting, and a puppet show that caused a scream for help like I had never heard in my life.

When I found it, it was empty, and part of me was thankful for that. I knew there was a chance that they wouldn't come back to this same spot, and I knew there was an even better chance that they weren't even in this area tonight, but I still felt the need to try and give them what they deserve. I still felt the need to make sure they knew what they did was wrong. And even beside all those feelings, my nervousness still waited.

I hid my bike behind a couple of trash cans and I seated myself in the same spot as I had been last night when I was knocked to the ground. I tried to take in the scenery around me, and I realized how grim it actually was. I was at the back of an alley; my only strip of light coming from the end where people and bars and noise was coming from. The walls had been graphitized all over with crude words and slang; there was even one that said "Kill the Batman."

I didn't want to think about that one, so I turned my attention away from the scenery.

But I still thought about my father. I wonder what he felt like the first few times he went out. I wondered if he was scared, but then I figured probably not. My father didn't know the fear, he was the fear; or at least that's what he always said. But I still think he got scared sometimes, he had to. No matter what people thought about him, or what rumors where made up about him, he wasn't invincible. There is probably an infinite amount of times that he could have been killed, but he wasn't, because he didn't let the fear get to him. But even in those moments, I think he got scared. He just didn't let himself realize it.

I tried to figure out if I was afraid right now, and I couldn't, because I didn't feel fear. I felt something else, but I couldn't figure out what it was.

After ten minutes of sitting to myself and being quiet and thinking, there was a large shadow that appeared on the wall. I tried to pay attention to all the shadows that came up, but this one really caught my attention, because this time there was a sound to go with it. Whoever it was, they were close, and they sounded like they were coming this way, and my first instinct was to get low and hide. But I couldn't. If I ever hoped to be as great as my father, I would have to stop reacting and start thinking.

Two people turned into the alleyway and I was pretty sure I found my guys. They were big and broad and very tall. But I could only see shadows; it wasn't until they got closer that their features began to materialize. But I didn't need to look at their faces. Not once I saw the tattoos.

I stood up and I wanted to think about what I was doing. I would wait for them to get close and then I would throw one of the Bat Stars at them, and pray I had good aim. Then I would attack. That was the only plan I had; the only chance I had.

"Hey, Tats, is that the little masked girl we saw yesterday?" the un-tattooed man said. Tats turned his head and eyed me up and down, a strong grimace on his face and the look of death in his eyes. A shiver went down my spine again.

"Yeah, it is," I answered for them. "And I'm here to show you why you should never hit a lady." They laughed, and it was a very hearty laugh like I had just told the funniest joke in the world. But I had expected that. I wanted them to laugh so they would come closer. The un-tattooed man looked at me, a toothy grin on his face.

"Aw I'm sorry, did I hurt you? My apologizes little miss. Maybe I should kiss it and make it better." I didn't care about his words anymore. I eyed both of them as best I could, watching every moment of their hands, every twitch of their fingers. Tats reached out an arm and smacked the man upside the head.

"Don't be a fool, Randy. She doesn't want a bum like you. She wants me. That's why she came back." In retrospect, I wanted both of them, but surely not in the way they intended. Randy rubbed the back of his head and eyed Tats. Tats smiled at me in the most sinister way possible; a smile as twisted and disturbing as the Joker's.

"I'm sorry sweetheart. Don't mind him, he's a shlub. And either way, you and I have some unfinished business to deal with, remember?" He kept advancing on me, and luckily Randy stayed behind, leaving Tats to be somewhat unguarded and unprotected. I reached into my pocket and squeezed the Bat Star between my fingers ready to act at any moment. "See, princess, I don't take kindly to cheap shots, and what you laid on me yesterday was a cheap shot. That's not my thing." Only a few more steps and…

He was there. A smile graced my lips slightly.

"Well, then maybe this is more your size." I spun and fired my arm out of my jacket at a direct line drive towards Tats, and I don't think he even had time to really process what had just taken place before the Bat Star was stuck deeply in his arm. He exclaimed and swore in pain, as Randy shuffled behind him. His eyes looked down towards the little bat stuck inside of him, and he pulled it out swiftly, though surely adding more pain. He threw it on the ground and glared up at me.

He didn't really make words, but his mouth orchestrated a symphony of mumbles and he started to advance towards me again, except he didn't reach me. The serum was designed to have instantaneous effects, and it had already reached his legs. He fell before me just inches from my feet.

"Tats!" Randy yelled as he ran towards him, who was now on the alley ground in a sea of water, mud, and who knows what else.

"What the hell did you do to me?" Tats asked in a horrified voice more than anything, but I wasn't worried with him at the moment, I still needed to get Randy down. My hand slipped into my pocket and grabbed the first Star I could find, and flung it towards him while he was still kneeled next to Tats, and completely unaware of my existence for a whole of two seconds.

But I missed.

And my two seconds of invisibility were up.

Randy heard the _chink_ of the Star hitting the pavement beyond him, and his eyes turned to me, glowing a sort of color that I had never seen in eyes before and it made me freeze for longer than it should have. While staring at me, he backed up some and said one word.

"Boys!"

That's when the fear began to settle in.

A whole gang of men came filing in from off the streets and into the alleyway, cornering me, and I knew that if they attacked me, no matter how much self defense I know, I would not be able to take them all on at once. And that's when Randy pulled out a gun.

Randy and the gang of men began to come closer and I felt my breath fly out of me and never come back and I wanted to cry, but I couldn't because at that point, I was too scared. I was scared, terrified, enveloped in fear, and I didn't know what to do. He had the gun pointed at me and I had no way to escape and I felt fear.

I thought of my father and how I was sorry I hadn't stayed in and waited for him to come home for dinner and how I was sorry I lied to him and how I was sorry I didn't tell him I loved him enough. I was sorry to Alfred for disobeying him and for not realizing he was trying to keep me say and I was mostly sorry for ever thinking I could actually do this. Randy kept walking, the gun still making perfect aim with my skull.

"You know who you remind me of? The Batman." I flicked my eyes from the gun to his eyes, and I saw nothing in them. "I didn't like the Batman."

"Then you're going to hate me."

A black figure swooped down and landed right in front of me, though his back was to me. I think more than anything, Randy froze himself in fear, giving the figure enough time to swat the gun out of his hand and enough time for him to punch Randy in the face, causing him to stumble back, but not fall. Within seconds, Randy had regained his face, and started in on the figure.

And that was when the Batman arrived.

Not my father. The Batman. And I wanted to cry.

The whole gang of men now, who consisted of maybe five or six men, began to storm Batman, and each one he took on willingly, and almost jokingly. I didn't see how, but Randy had somehow gotten his gun back, and since none of the other men except for him had guns, they posed no real threat, and were out of the running within minutes of confrontation.

They only stared at each other for a second before Batman grabbed Randy, despite his gun. He grabbed him by the shirt collar and pulled him up close to his face, and I heard him speak through his teeth. "Drop it." As if in a trance, the gun slipped from Randy's hand and splashed into a puddle on the ground. "If you ever so much as look at her again, I will not hesitate to rip you apart limb from limb." Randy nodded quickly, a petrified look of sheer terror on his face, and Batman threw him down to the ground and stepped on him hard to knock him unconscious.

He turned to look at me and I felt two inches high. There was something different about looking at my father as Batman, and I knew he was angry and upset with me, but beyond that, the mask blocked out everything and made him completely unreadable and that scared me more than anything that had happened tonight.

I pulled my mask off, and looked down, feeling unworthy to look him in the eye; be that Batman or my father. A sudden flash of light blared from the end of the alleyway, and I looked up to see that it was Alfred in the car waiting, headlights ablaze.

"Get in the car." My eyes went up to his voice, but just looking at him again made me want to cry all the much more. But I didn't disobey. Unsteadily and shakily, I walked past him down to the car and I climbed inside. Alfred didn't say anything and I was glad he didn't.

I failed. I thought I was strong enough to do this, I thought I was good enough to live up to my father's name, but I couldn't. I couldn't live up to his greatness and I'll always live in his shadows. I was scared and afraid, and I let the fear get to me.

And this time I did cry.


	9. Chapter 9

The house was dark except for the fireplace. But that was alright with me. I didn't really want to see the light. I just wanted to sit in the almost darkness and leave me to my thoughts and think about what exactly I had done tonight, and how stupid I had been tonight. I hadn't cried much, but enough. I never cried much when I was younger, and when I did, that was when I knew that something had gone terribly wrong. I realized tonight that I was playing a game of cat and mouse with my life and that's not what a hero does. I'm not a hero. I'm just a dumb girl who thought she was something she wasn't.

Alfred hadn't said much in the car, and he hadn't said much since we got back either. He had asked me if I wanted anything to eat, which I replied I didn't. He asked me if I wished to be alone, and I didn't answer. I wanted someone to sit down with me and explain to me exactly what happened tonight but I knew Alfred couldn't because he wasn't there. But either way, I knew he would be able to explain how I was feeling to me better than I could myself. But I didn't know if I was ready for that. I wanted to be alone, but I knew swimming in my sadness would get me nowhere. So I asked him to stay.

He sat down on the couch opposite me and the fire made half of his face look orange and the other half black. I had huddled myself under a blanket, not so much because of the cold, but because I felt ashamed, and I felt it necessary to hide myself in any way I could.

He didn't say much, and I thought that was strange. Even though he never struck me as the talkative type, Alfred was never silent. But I knew why he was. There was nothing to say. I had done something stupid, no matter my intentions, and I felt incredibly bad for disobeying him. I knew he was only trying to protect me, and I ignored him and put myself in danger, and in doing that, I also put my father in danger. The silence was too thick, and I couldn't take it. I turned to Alfred.

"I'm sorry I disobeyed you." His head turned slowly, reminding me much of an owl. His mouth was a line, and his eyes were deep, and it looked like he had aged within hours. But within seconds, a small smile formed and his eyes lightened, and I knew he forgave me.

"It's alright, Miss Alex. Everything turned out fine."

"How mad is my dad?" His eyes tore from mine momentarily, so I knew that was a good indication of quite angry. I was so angry at myself for upsetting him. More than anything in this world, I wanted to please my father, and I let him down in the biggest embarrassment, not only to myself, but to him as well.

"I'm not sure," he said as he glanced back towards me. "When he rushed out of here, he was more terrified than I had ever seen him." I looked away. I didn't want to see what emotion was on his face. "Miss, don't you understand how important you are to your father and myself? Why do you always try to prove that you belong in this family?" My eyes found his immediately like radar. His face was sullen and calm, but it also had a kind of sad on it, the kind of sad that you get when you just don't understand. I shook my head at him slightly.

I should have known better than to think that Alfred didn't know how I was feeling. He knew everything, and that wasn't much of an understatement. Maybe I resembled the way my mother looked before she left, and maybe that scared him. I didn't know what gave it away so easily, but I was kind of glad he knew and I didn't have to tell him. I wanted to smile at him, but I was interrupted by a sound that echoed from upstairs.

It was the front door shutting, and I knew my father was home.

Alfred and I exchanged a glace, a kind of glace that we exchanged a lot when we both noticed the same thing, a kind of glace that was not out of the fear of the unknown, but the fear of the known. There were footsteps on the stairs that led down to the den, and I saw Alfred stand up.

My father emerged from the doorway of the den, and the light from the fireplace glared off of him and I wanted to run and hug him and cry in the corner all at once. I wasn't so much scared for his words as much as I was for what he thought of me. Alfred turned to look at him, and I saw him look at me too, but I didn't pay much attention. My father's eyes drifted to mine, hidden halfway under the couch, and oddly, they weren't aggressive or filled with pain. They were soft and quiet, and I couldn't decide how to feel about that. Then again I was father away; I might have seen wrong.

"Alfred, could you give Alex and I a few minutes?" His voice was calm and normal, just the same way he spoke when he told me happy birthday or talked about his mother. Alfred nodded his head at him.

"Of course, Master Bruce." Alfred walked past my father, and I listened carefully for each step he took up the stairs until I could hear his steps no more, and it was just my father and I.

My father walked into the room deeper and stood by the end of the couch for a moment. He was back into his regular clothes, and by regular clothes, I mean real clothes, not his suit. His face was worn, but that could have been for any plethora of reasons, and somewhere deep inside of me I knew he wasn't angry with me. I think I knew that not too deep either, but I still felt small compared to him. I always felt small compared to him. And I don't mean in height. He put his hands in his pockets and looked at me casually.

"Mind if I sit?" I had been spread out over the whole couch, and I retracted my legs in under myself to make room for him. He sat down and looked forward, and I knew I had to apologize. I had known that from the night after the ball that I would have to apologize; I guess I just never got around to it.

"I'm sorry," I nearly blurted out. His head turned towards me, and I felt my eyes diverge from his if only for a second. I didn't know what it was about my father that intimidated me so badly sometimes; it wasn't a fear, but it was an intimidation that kept me wary enough to never want to know my father's fear. "I'm sorry for everything. For the night of the ball; I knew I shouldn't have stood up and ransomed my life. I knew it made you feel scared and I'm sorry. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you that I was training and going out at night, and I'm sorry I lied to you about the cut on my lip, and I'm just really sorry." I never knew how to end an apology; I wasn't very good at them.

He sighed; he was leaning on his elbows over his knees, and I could see that he was tired. I knew that now that he was older, fighting like he used to must not be easy anymore, and he looked way too spent to have just fought a few guys. "Did they hurt you?" He looked over at me and gave me a long look, as if he was trying to evaluate my sincerity. Eventually he shook his head.

"No, not really. It was just kind of tiring." I watched him twirl his fingers together; I think I got that from him. "I'm not what I used to be, Alex. I'm not as young anymore, I can't take as much." I wanted to ask if that was the reason why he stopped being Batman in the first place, but I felt the moment wasn't right.

"Aren't you angry with me?" I thought I saw his eyes flash before my own, but I would have just called myself delusional had I not seen it so clearly. All the muscles in his body were loose, I could tell, but something about him still felt very tense. Maybe it was the fact that he and I were still so far apart, despite the fact that we were sharing a couch. He didn't shake his head this time. But he didn't nod either, but he looked away, most likely into the fire.

"I was at first. I was furious actually. I was so angry that you would go out there and willingly put yourself in harm's way. As soon as Alfred told me you were gone, I felt everything in me drop, and I felt like I had been shot." He turned a glance at me. "And I've been shot before." Uncontrollably, I let a chuckle and smile escape me, but they both quickly faded. His eyes diverged again. "All I could think about was saving you and getting you out of danger. I didn't care what I had to do in order to do that. But once I saw you there in a mask, I realized I couldn't be angry with you. And I shouldn't have been angry with you on the night of the ball either. And I'm sorry for that. But it angers me when I feel like I can't protect you, and you know as well as I do that I've never been good with my feelings."

My father and I were as close as possible, but we very rarely had heart to heart, one on one talks like this. The last one I ever remember us having was the day that I heard all my friends talking about me in the garden. When I had run inside, I sat on his lap and told him what they said, but I didn't tell him what they said about me. I told him what they said about him; because that was the part that really upset me. I couldn't understand someone thinking that my father, my best friend, my superhero, could have been something bad. And he had told me that sometimes people are mean because they don't understand, and they fear what they don't understand. And then he told me he loved me and he held me while I cried.

But that didn't happen this time. And I didn't want to know what was so different between then and now. I was still me, and he was still him, but I guess things were just different.

Then I felt the need to ask my question, and I thought it was alright because the time seemed okay. He was calm and open, and that didn't happen much. Even being related to him, he was still a vault on most things, and could only be opened on certain occasions. I hoped this was one of those occasions.

I fiddled my fingers and curled my toes, and tried to look at him without making him want to look back. "Why did you stop being Batman?"

He looked back anyway, but his face wasn't wearing a mask of shock or offense. It was just his natural face, sweet and quiet, and I couldn't see what he was thinking. I liked to regard myself as someone who is skilled at reading faces and expressions, but when it came to the two people I lived with, as well as the only two people I really loved, they were endless puzzles that kept resetting themselves daily. He spoke suddenly, and a bit quickly.

"Do you think I'm a good father?" I stared at him dumbfounded.

"I think you are an amazing father."

"That's why." I scrunched my brows together and shook my head slightly. He wasn't making any sense.

"I don't understand." I saw him look at the fireplace as the embers sizzled and popped, and a sigh came out. I had been watching his sight on the fire before it turned to me. It was almost as if he couldn't seem to keep his sight on me, as if it was too hard.

"Think back to when you were really young. Am I in any of those memories?" I thought for a moment, until I came to a gruesome insight.

He wasn't. He wasn't in any memory from when I was young. When I try to think back to being a child, all that streams through my heads are images of Alfred and an empty manor. He was here and there, but barely visible in the photoset in my head, and I couldn't figure out why I never noticed or even bothered to remember that before. I can see his empty bedroom and empty dining chair. I remember coming home from school and seeing Alfred and asking where my father was, and only getting the answer of "he'll be home later." My father wasn't a part of my childhood because he was Batman. And he stopped being Batman because of me.

He was still looking at me, waiting for my reaction I suppose. I had felt my face slowly contort into one of sadness and depression, but aside from that, I think I was expressionless. My eyes slowly went to him, looking at them and trying to look deep.

"I'm the reason you stopped?"

"Please don't look so guilty, Alex. It was my choice to stop. I loved doing what I did and helping those people, but I had a daughter to look after. And I wanted to be a part of your life, and I wasn't. And that made me angrier than anything. And so, yes, I gave up being Batman. But also keep in mind, the city was in good times then, and didn't really need me much anyway." I did understand what he was saying. I didn't like it, but I did understand. But that was then. Gotham wasn't in distress before when I was younger. It is now, and it needs Batman again. It needs my father again. But I don't think he needed it anymore.

Alfred told me once how being Batman was like a drug to my father, like he was almost addicted to it, and he needed it to really keep his mind clear of anything unwanted. But once he quit because of me, that need and void was filled by me, and now he no longer needs it. But what happens when you don't need the drug, but the drug needs you?

"Don't you miss it?" I asked, and I tried to sound as cynical as possible. He didn't move, and he wasn't thrown off at all. Only the fire popping in the background distracted him.

"Yes. It was once a part of me, and will always be a part of me. But that's not who I am anymore, and I've grown to be alright with that." He didn't sound finished, and he looked hesitant to speak, like words were just waiting on the other side of his lips, but he wouldn't allow them to come out. I wondered if it was painful for him to talk about his past like this. It probably did, but I had never had the mind to picture my father and pain together, even though I knew everything about his childhood.

"It was nice being in the suit again tonight. But it only reminded me that that life is behind me. My time as Batman is up Alex." His voice was sad, and I could feel the pain in his words. I shifted myself on the couch slightly, and sat myself up rather than lying across. I inched closer to my father.

"That's not true, Dad. You could still do it. Gotham still needs you, and now that I'm older, I understand. You can go out and do what you love again." I wanted to sound hopeful, and I wanted to believe that by the look on his face he was seriously considering it, but I knew he rejected it when his head slowly began to go side to side. He then looked up at me, right in my eyes.

"No, I can't. Whether you understand or not, I'd still miss you, and I'd miss everything going on in your life. Being a hero is a fulltime job, and you're not allowed to take any days off. It's rewarding, but that's all people ever think. People, don't understand that it's stressful, tiresome, and generally drives you mad in some ways. That was why I stopped, don't you understand? My time is up. I'm too old to do it anymore anyway. It's time for someone else, someone new to rise up." His voice had elevated, but not in a yelling sort of way; in a trying-to-get-my-point-across way.

I knew he would be mad at me, I knew he would if I asked, but I didn't see the reason not to. We were already this far in the conversation, and I had nothing left to lose. And even after hearing what he spoke about, it didn't really alter my mindset. I might have failed tonight but that means nothing. I would make it mean nothing.

"What about me?" He stared at me confused.

"What about you?"

"Train me. I'll be the next hero that Gotham needs. But I need training. And no one better to train me than Batman himself, right?" My voice stayed light, as to I knew that I would have to keep myself more than anything calm if I ever hoped to get an affirmative answer. And by his face, I couldn't tell what he was thinking. It had started out small and slow, but gradually the smallest of grins appeared on his face, and grew into a smirk, and I couldn't tell if he was about to tease me or make fun of me.

"Why are you so interested in hero work so suddenly?" He was entertained, but I didn't really want him to be. I wanted him to take me seriously. Though, it was nice to see him happy, if only for a minute.

"Since the night of the ball."

"No," he shook his head, "I mean _why_ are you so interested?" His smile left his face.

I twirled my fingers. I knew the reason why, but I thought it was selfish. And over these past few days, I had been trying to forget about the reason, but I couldn't. It was always there, weighing down on me like a ton of bricks, and it was so hard to ignore. Whenever I really thought about it, I wanted to cry. But I wouldn't cry in front of my father. I couldn't.

"It's selfish."

"I don't care." His eyes echoed the same words, but louder and stronger, and I knew that I could actually finally tell him.

"I'm supposed to be great. I'm a Wayne. I'm supposed to grow up to be this great and revered person who has done so many things in their lifetime. I know that everyone in the city thinks that about me. They think about what I'll grow up to accomplish, because I must accomplish something because of the family I was born into. I mean, just look at you and your dad. Your dad built the monorail system, and you, well you were Batman, as well as a rich man who always helped out charities and any organization in need. Every Wayne before me was everything they're supposed to be, and I just don't know if I can live up to that. And I figured that if I could help people like you did, then maybe I would be. I know it's wrong and selfish, but I just want to know that I'm supposed to be in this family. Because sometimes it doesn't feel like it."

I had spoken somewhat fast and in a tizzy; my nerves wouldn't have been able to handle it if I spoke slowly, but I knew my father heard everything. And he didn't say anything or do anything. He just looked from me slowly, to the fire.

"Did I ever tell you that I left Gotham for seven years before I became Batman?" I shook my head at him. I had no idea. "I did. I left because I didn't know what else to do. I ran away and I lived the life of a crook. I lived among thieves and murderers and criminals. I helped them steal things, and I got into a lot of fights, and I was in jail a lot. Does that sound like something that a great person does?" I remember Alfred telling me once that my father traveled before he became Batman, but I never knew the details of it. Despite the fact that I knew it was my father we were talking about, I shook my head at him. "Greatness isn't born, Alexandria. It's made. And do you want to know something?"

"What?"

"You're already greater than I'll ever be. Not because you didn't live the life of a thief, not because you haven't gone to jail, but just because of who you are already, and who you've always been." I smiled at him. I didn't really know where he was getting his facts from, but I didn't really care. It was just nice to hear, and it actually made some of the pressure on my shoulders lift because more than anything, I wanted my father to be proud of me, and if he was proud of me, nothing else would really matter. "And," he began, "that's exactly why I'm going to train you." My smile widened, and I closed the space between him and me. I went forward and wrapped my arms around him as much as I could reach. He placed his arms around me as well. "You were right, Alex. This city does need a hero. But it's not me."

It was bittersweet to hear his words. I still wanted him to be a part of the city, a part of who he used to be and who I know he still wants to be, somewhere deep down inside.

"But you could help. Batman is Gotham City, Dad. Without him, there is no city." I felt him smile beside me before I saw it.

"Batman lives in the city. As long as the city is here, so is the Batman." I smiled at him, and I felt the urge to tell him I loved him again, but this time I did, and he said it back, and it made everything feel a little newer and brighter, even though the room was the same dark fire-lit color that I was from the very beginning, except this time there was no reason to hide under a blanket.

There would be no reasons to hide anymore.

**Thank you so much to all who read and commented. I hope you all liked it. And just because I know that some of you will wonder what is yet to come of Alex, I will write an Epilogue for you within the days to come. I'm sorry if this story is shorter than you would have hoped, but then that just leaves room for your imagination. But nonetheless I hope you've enjoyed it, I've enjoyed writing it, and I hope we meet again someday, as writer and reader or as friends. Fair winds.**


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